


Private Duty Nurse

by Quietlymischievous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Childbirth, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft's Umbrella, Protective Mycroft, Romance, Sexual Content, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 36,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quietlymischievous/pseuds/Quietlymischievous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mycroft Holmes called upon you to aid your country, it was an honor but you never knew what you were getting yourself into. Provides insight into the private life of Mycroft Holmes.  Generally follows the plot of season three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A job offer

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfiction. It's just a silly one-shot set in season 3. Hope you like it.

I don’t often get kidnapped, well… actually, it has happened three times before. But when I do it is engineered by the same man. The last time was a year ago. I thought I would never lay my eyes upon Mycroft Holmes again, but here he stands on my doorstep in his bespoke suit, umbrella in hand.

Mr. Holmes is the most powerful man in England. Why he sought me out and came to trust me, I have no inkling. I just know that when he calls upon me it is in the name of national security and I am sworn to secrecy.

“My dear Lady, I find I am in need of your services, again,” his posh tones flowed from his mouth like silk. “Would you pack your things and meet me downstairs? I have a car waiting.” Without another word, he turned and walked away.

Shortly, I handed my bag to the bodyguard and turned to lock my flat door. I never knew how long I would be gone. The first occasion I had been employed three weeks, the second three months. I don’t mind, though. Mr Holmes and the British Government pay very well. And as far as my social calendar goes, well, I tend to be something of a hermit. I have no family to miss me. My late husband and I had both been only children and our parents were long gone. I guess that was why we had clung to each other so desperately.

The black car idled at the kerb and Mycroft crushed his cigarette with his expensive leather shoe. He held the door open and then climbed in after me. The bodyguard settled in the front beside the driver and soon we were merging with the evening traffic. I love London and happily watched the city roll past. I grew bored staring out at the sparse lights of small villages and sporadic farmhouses once we were out of the city, so I pulled my book out of the bag at my feet.

Mycroft, who had been silent until now, looked up from the notes he had been studying. Raising his brow at the title in my hands, “Again?” he queried.

“Again,” I nodded, smiling. “It’s been three years, after all.”

He nodded, acknowledging the fact that I had been reading the same story the first time we met. I could see the amusement in his eyes even though he tried to hide it behind the cold façade he so often put up. “And, I suppose you have the other one too?” he said in mock distaste.

I giggled. “Of course. Why bother reading Frankenstein if you are not going to go all out and follow it with Dracula, Mr Holmes?” It was the only personal fact about this man that I was privy to; he was a fan of Gothic horror.

“It is a rare woman that appreciates the more macabre works of literature, Mrs Craig.”

“Serena,” I retorted. “Mrs Craig has long grown cold in a damp Scottish grave. Her heart died with the man. I am just Serena.”

He looked down his nose at me, not in a haughty manner, but more a calculating gaze, as if unsure if I was truly offended or just speaking my view on the matter. He must have decided the latter for a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he repeated, “It is a rare woman that appreciates the more macabre works of literature… Serena.”

I laughed again, knowing that somewhere under that icy front was a very complex man, one with emotions like the rest of us. I knew he had a sense of humour somewhere underneath and I was determined to hear him give a genuine laugh at least once before the end of my employment. “If I had pulled out some rubbish romance novel the first time we met, would we be sitting here now?”

Mycroft looked affronted at the idea of knowing someone that read cheap romance novels. Then he looked at me and I knew he was trying to figure out whether I was the type to do such a horrible thing. His expression changed and I felt as if he was seeing something other than my proclivities for classic literature. He was reading my personal story as easily as one reads the newspaper. I swallowed thickly and resisted the urge to squirm under his probing gaze.

I don’t know exactly what he saw, but when our eyes met, I knew he had seen through my own façade. He had seen the real me. “What do you see?” I whispered despite the pounding of my heart beneath my ribs. I felt stripped bare, my heart flayed open for all to see. Would he be disgusted by my bitterness of being made a widow so young? I had to know what he thought of me.

“I don’t do deductions to impress my peers. That is more my brother’s favourite pastime.” He frowned, clearly mistaking my involuntary question as an expression of interest. “The answer is no. We would not be sitting here.”

“Fine,” I snapped, even as my mind told my mouth to shut up. “You appreciate fine literature. But why the bias against romance readers. My favourite book is Jane Eyre. It’s a Gothic romance.”

“And, it is well written. Most romance books published today are barely more than poorly written drabble; quantity and speed of works written being substituted for quality. If you were a fan of such rubbish, I would have thought you mundane. You are obviously intelligent or you wouldn’t be recommended so highly. But I would not have kept interest in you long enough to appreciate your intuition and,” he paused, looking almost pained, “compassion. You are interesting and complex. And since this position answers only to me, I choose to continue your employment not only because you show superior skills, but because you are the least irritating option.”

I couldn’t help it. It happened before I could stop myself, and he recoiled in distaste. “Thank you,” I managed to get out, between giggles. I could see the driver and his companion snicker along with me. Well, at least, I wasn’t the only one that was amused. “I think there was a compliment in there somewhere. Thank you.” Finally, when I had composed myself, I leant over and placed a kiss on his cheek. “That was very sweet, coming from you. Thank you. Now, tell me a little bit about my patient.”

He seemed relieved to change the subject and I certainly wasn’t going to irritate him further by wiping the smear of my lipstick from his face. He handed me a thin file. “Here is a summary of your patient’s medical history and a rather brief assessment of his injuries at the extraction point.”

My patient was one of our country’s operatives that had gotten in a bit of trouble and had to be pulled out, but not before being tortured. I would be looking after his physical well-being, but I could triage any emotional or psychiatric issues that I deemed needing further evaluation.

“Nothing is broken save a finger or two, but he does seem to be mildly concussed. He was flown directly from the extraction point to here.” Mycroft indicated the secured compound, whose gates we were approaching. “I don’t doubt your thorough inspection will discover more wounds than initially suspected,” he tapped the report in front of me. "You are aware of my resources and only have to ask for what diagnostic test or consult with the physicians of your choice, that you deem necessary.”

We were greeted by a Colonel Carter, who led us down to the medical bay where they were just moving my patient from the stretcher to the bed. I waited until he was settled and the transport attendants retreated before moving closer. The sight of him made my heart ache. A thin patina of blood covered all but the smallest area of his exposed skin. He had been severely beaten, and only he knew what other trials he had endured. He was groggy but watched me with interest as I donned gloves and began assessing his condition.

“He’s going to be fine, Mycroft,” I said as my medical assistant turned the patient back and forth gently, allowing me to inspect all surfaces. “I’ll fix him up.”

Mycroft nodded, “Then I leave him in your most capable hands, Serena.”

I smiled. To have received any compliment from him was rare and he had graced me twice today. I knew my cheeks had reddened, for my patient smirked up at me. Cheeky bastard! 

“You,” I turned to the other tech waiting at the side, “Let’s get a basin of warm water and I will start to clean him up. I want to know what bruises are hidden beneath the grime and blood. Then, I want another bag of IV fluids, lab draw tubes, and a specimen cup. I want to check his kidney function; it looks like he took a boot to his flank. I want to make sure his kidneys aren’t bruised.” I rattled off instructions as I headed for the wash basin myself, stuffing supplies in my pockets as I went. 

The tech, that I had barked orders to, was stunned at my abruptness and looked down at the man on the bed. “Who the hell is she?”

“My personal nurse. And if I am not mistaken, my future sister-in-law.” Sherlock replied, scratching weakly at the stubble covering his face. He wished a shave and haircut were a priority, but it would have to wait. She wouldn’t allow it, but maybe she would give him some pain medication. What they had given him before leaving Serbia was wearing off. She was a nurse after all and they frowned upon leaving their patients in pain.


	2. Brotherly love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so maybe not a one-shot. I had far too much fun with the first chapter that I decided, with some encouragement, to continue on. Thanks for reading.

I placed my non-dominant hand on Sherlock's bare shoulder to still his movement. I tried to keep my tone soothing, yet firm, "Stop pulling away." 

Though he faced away from me, I somehow knew he was rolling his eyes. “John would never have taken this long to stitch me up and I feel the suture pulling through!”

“That, Sherlock Holmes, is not my fault! You are the one that refused the local anaesthetic, you idiot,” I reminded him, rolling my own eyes. “Besides your friend is not here, nor does he even know you are alive at this point.” 

“Just leave it alone. It will heal eventually,” he frowned at me over his shoulder.

I laughed softly, being too much of a professional to take his grumbling personally. “Sherlock, you are the one complaining that this particular lash mark keeps getting blood on the sheets. It is much deeper than the others and I think it is going to keep opening every time you move. If you let me finish stitching it up, it will heal much faster and you won’t have to worry about ruining your clothing,” I said, trying to appeal to his sense of logic. 

He signed, “Oh, all right. Get on with it,” and I knew he wouldn’t pursue the matter anymore.

Tying the last stitch in place, I dabbed antibiotic cream onto the length of the wound and stepped back to admire my work. When I did, I bumped into a solid form and recognized the fragrance of Mycroft's aftershave in the air. Had he been there long? "Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you had come in.” 

Mycroft smiled, stepping back."My apologies. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I just came to check on my brother’s well-being. That is a rather neat suture line despite your patient's unwillingness to sit still, Nurse Craig."

I held in a snicker as Sherlock turned stiffly and glared at his brother. “Piss off, Mycroft.”

“Good to see you, too, brother dear." Mycroft flashed him a brief, somewhat exaggerated smile. "Ready to go?” 

Sherlock winced as he bent over to retrieve the worn hoodie from the bed. I had offered him pain medicine just this morning, but he had declined, scoffing at the effectiveness of over-the-counter meds. “And, Mycroft will disapprove if I take something stronger,” he had waved me off. 

"Sherlock, Mycroft has given me full authority regarding your care. You are concussed, have bruised ribs, multiple contusions and lacerations from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head, including the lash marks on your back; the worst of which I just stitched up without a local. We did rule out fractures of your fingers, but they are quite severely sprained. And, you have abrasions around both wrists from the ropes you were bound with. I doubt there is anywhere you aren't hurting. If Mycroft wants to give you hell for taking a narcotic, then I will be glad to give him hell right back because if someone needs or deserves it, it is you" I had almost shouted.

Sherlock had given me a small smile, but declined just the same, citing the need to think, something the stronger medications made difficult, he said.

“Save me the sentiment, Mycroft. I just want to return to London and get on with this business of coming back to life," Sherlock said, carefully pulling himself up to his full height.

“Well then,” Mycroft nodded, sweeping an arm towards the door, “your car is outside. I have a barber and a more suitable change of clothing awaiting your arrival at the Diogenes Club. Unless you are enjoying this grunge phase you seem to be going through.”

Sherlock smirked, “Whatever it takes to annoy you, Mycroft.” He limped out the door, not looking back. 

Mycroft let out a sigh and rubbed at his temple with his fingertips.

“Do you always get on so well?” I asked as I gathered up my rucksack from the chair. The driver had already taken my other bag and stowed it in the boot.

“He’s always been insufferable.” Mycroft huffed, squaring his shoulders. “Mummy and Daddy were too indulgent. Anyway, I will meet up with you later this evening to settle my debt, Serena.”

“You aren’t coming with us?” I tried not to sound disappointed. It would be interesting to watch these two men interact further. I wondered how different they were from normal siblings, not having had any of my own with which to compare the relationship.

“No, I think you will find it a much more pleasant ride without me present. I also have some business to conduct here before returning to London.” 

I said goodbye and followed Sherlock to the car, sliding in beside him. Thank goodness our transportation was luxurious, because I could not imagine Sherlock having to fold himself up to fit in anything smaller. As it was, he winced every time we rode over a bump or made a turn. After about five minutes, I took a bottle of water and a small case out of my bag. “It’s Paracetamol and Ibuprofen," I said, flipping open the case with my thumb and holding both items out to him. "Take two of each. It's two hours to London and you are already uncomfortable. I know you don't think they will be of much help, but they will take the edge off enough that you may be able to sleep.”

Much to my surprise, he pulled out the dose I had indicated, then handed the case back to me with a nod of thanks. He swallowed the white pearls down with the water and hesitated before finishing off the remainder of the fluid. He had come to me severely dehydrated. I had given him several litres of fluid intravenously, but it was obvious the fluid deficit still persisted to some degree. “Thank you, Nurse Craig. You have been quite helpful.” He gave me a sad smile, and I suspected he was thinking of the upcoming reunion with his friends. 

I had never met Sherlock Holmes until thirty-six hours ago. The file Mycroft had shown me in the car hadn’t given the operative’s name, but when I had taken one look at the man lying on the bed I had had no doubts as to whom my patient was. His face had been plastered across every newspaper, tabloid and TV screen one horrible day two years ago. I was still a little in awe of being in his presence, but I liked him. We had developed an easy rapport that belied the brevity of our acquaintance. “You’re welcome. And please, call me Serena. You and Mycroft insist on being so formal. But, I am just a simple woman. Nothing special.”

“My brother has hired you three,” Sherlock brow wrinkled as he studied me, “no, four times now. You are anything but simple. He values your skill as a nurse, Serena. And, I suspect he would list you as one of his rare, true friends.”

I couldn't help but laugh. I had worked for the government long enough to have heard the rumours of who really held the power and it wasn't the Prime Minister. Sherlock must have been concussed worse than I originally suspected if he thought I was someone of importance to the most important man in Britain. “Sherlock, I think you overestimate our time spent together and our relationship. Mycroft has hired me four times in almost as many years. I will admit that after he had briefed me about my duties each time we had chatted a bit, mostly about books and music, but that had been the extent of our socialization. I am his employee and nothing else. There are more interesting fish in the sea than me.”

“Goldfish,” Sherlock said absently, staring off in the distance.

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he waved the comment away, bringing his steepled fingers to his lips. “Never mind me. I am going to my mind palace. Please refrain from speaking to me for the rest of the trip."

I didn't know what a 'mind palace' was, but seeing he wasn’t going to be talking anymore, I shrugged and pulled out my book, picking up where I left off.

Upon our arrival in London, the driver let Sherlock out at a rather posh looking building and then returned me to my home. I headed for the shower and looked forward to getting out of the scrubs I had been wearing for more than forty-eight hours. The warm water felt glorious as I washed away sweat, betadine and Sherlock's blood. 

After a quick bite to eat, I stretched out on the bed and must have fallen into a deep sleep immediately. The doorbell woke me up several hours later. It had grown dark while I slept and I staggered to the door, cutting on lights as I went. “Oh Mycroft, come in.”

“I trust you slept well,” he stepped inside, hanging his greatcoat on the tree by the door.

“I did,” I said, trying to stifle a yawn and gesturing to the sitting room chairs. “But now I can’t seem to wake up. I didn’t sleep but an hour or two last night. Sherlock woke me up having a nightmare and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I was afraid he might hurt himself.”

“Or possibly yourself?” Mycroft looked me in the eye.

“It’s always a possibility with PTSD patients. I don't think it would have gotten to that point, though. He appears to be coping fairly well and he was able to extract himself from the dream fairly quick without my assistance."

“He does have a way with coping, although sometimes his methods are quite unorthodox.” Mycroft leant back in the chair and crossed his legs.

“Yes, I noticed. Mycroft, he jumped off a building and faked his death. May I ask why?" 

“It's a long convoluted story, but the abbreviated version is that he thought it necessary, to save his friends’ lives.” Mycroft tugged at his waistcoat, as if he was uncomfortable, not with his clothing or the conversation but maybe with the sentiment involved. 

“Oh, I see. Now that I’ve met him I can’t see him pretending to commit suicide just because he was disgraced. He doesn’t seem the type to care what others think of him. Or at least what the general population thinks.”

“No.” Mycroft agreed. “He has little regard for such matters.”

“He does value your opinion, though,” I smiled. 

Mycroft scoffed at the idea. “I sincerely doubt that. He thinks I am a rubbish big brother.”

I reached over and placed my hand over his. “I think you have been a wonderful brother. I’m going to make us some tea. I’ll be right back.” I got up and strode to the kitchen before he could answer. They fought. I had noticed that in the short time I had known Sherlock. But I also saw how much they enjoyed the bantering and Mycroft certainly cared for his brother’s well-being.

Mycroft did not pursue the subject any further once I came back from the kitchen, tea tray in hand. I poured my guest a cup and sat cross-legged on the sofa with my own. “Have a scone, please. I made them the morning before you came to collect me. And don’t give me that diet excuse. One scone and clotted cream isn't going to hurt you. You and your brother both are thin as a rail.”

Mycroft obliged me and partook of not only one, but two treats. Finishing the last of his tea, he pulled a cheque from his pocket and handed it to me. “For your services.”

“Thank you, Mycroft. You know you can call me anytime.” I glanced down at the paper and almost choked. “Wait, Mycroft. You’ve made a mistake.”

He smiled smugly, “I don’t make mistakes.”

“Yes, you have,” I waved the cheque between us. “This is too much. This is more than a month’s pay for me. The government has always paid well, but this is ridiculous.”

“Serena dear, you weren’t working for the government. You were working for me and I paid you for your worth. Nothing but the best for my brother. Now, if you will excuse me, I also find myself in need of sleep.” Mycroft arose from his seat and moved to retrieve his coat. In an uncharacteristically shy manner, he pulled out a paper-wrapped item and presented it to me. “You mentioned in the car that you were a fan of Poe. I came upon this in an antique bookshop in America some time ago. It is an early twentieth-century edition in surprisingly good condition.”

I took the parcel and carefully slipped the book out of its wrapper. It was Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination, and it was in excellent condition, smelling of leather and… well... that smell that old, well cared for books have. I cradled it to my chest and stood up on my toes to place a kiss on his cheek. I swear he blushed.

He left me still hugging the tome tightly. Of all the gifts Mycroft could have given me in appreciation, this was the best. 

I didn’t expect to hear from him so soon, but just a few days later that I got a text from him: I made a mistake, I should have invited you to see Les Miserables with me. Your presence here might ease my suffering. MH

I stared at the text for quite some time, not sure what to make of it.


	3. A good pair of shoes will take you anywhere

I think I have been wearing sensible shoes too long. Jimmy Choos! I have Jimmy Choos on my feet. They cost almost a week’s pay for me and all I can think about is not falling and breaking my ankle. How do women do it? Don’t get me wrong, they are gorgeous shoes, but how am I supposed to be graceful while walking around on toothpicks. Anthea makes it look so easy. But, wait a minute; I am getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the beginning.

I had seen neither of the Holmes brothers since Sherlock’s resurrection in November. Not that I didn’t hear from them occasionally. Sherlock tended to text me more frequently than Mycroft, but his messages were often cryptic, bordering on bizarre. The one I received on the train this morning was typical. “Neither Molly nor John is answering their phone. How much insulin would have to be given to a non-diabetic male, weighing eleven stone, in order for the dose to be lethal? SH.” I am not sure if John, or whoever Molly is, knows the answer, but I guess Sherlock thought I ran around with such figures in my head. I answered him with: “No idea. Are you plotting Mycroft’s demise again?” Even though we had only met once, he seemed to have taken a liking to me and we did text back and forth frequently.

Mycroft’s texts tended to be a little more normal: “Reading a book called House of Leaves. It is quite strange. I may send it to you to read and get your opinion,” or “Sherlock has no sense of self-preservation. I am afraid if he hadn’t met the good Dr Watson… never mind, you know already”. My replies often included the phrases: “Yes, please. I always like a good book,” or “I understand your anxiety over Sherlock. I am just glad he has you and Dr Watson looking after him”.

I feel privileged to be included in the lives of such great men and I have to be honest, I regularly scanned the papers and news on the telly for brief glimpses of them. Sherlock was easy to spot, usually taking centre page. Mycroft was more elusive though I had gotten quite good at searching the background of pictures for him. I had noticed him in photos with the royal family once and with the Prime Minister twice. He never was fully in the shots, but I knew him when I saw him. 

Five months. Five months of normalcy. Five months of boredom. Five months of time to think. Not even my job in London’s busiest hospital A&E department filled the hole in my heart. I guess that is why Anthea found me in Scotland, sitting with my back to a marble gravestone. Neville had died on the twenty-first of this month, four years ago, struck down by a speeding cab as he cycled to work. I had come here to spend a little time with my husband. I brought a packed lunch, a blanket and a book, and had spent most of the afternoon conversing with a memory. 

“Hello, Serena.”

She startled me, not having heard her approach. “Hello, Anthea,” I returned, brushing off the seat of my jeans as I rose. “However did you find me?”

“Not difficult, actually,” she stumbled slightly as her heels sunk into the soft ground. “I tried your flat after I couldn’t reach you on your mobile. Your landlord said to check here. He said you come here when you are sad.”

“Hmm, he’s more observant than I thought. Sorry, let’s get you to firmer ground,” I said, walking with her towards the waiting car. “I was missing him today,” I gestured back towards the grave. “It’s silly. To come so far to talk to a person that doesn’t exist anymore. But it makes me feel better.” 

“It’s all right. Did you drive here?”

“No, I took the five o’clock train from King’s Cross and then a cab. Anthea, why are you here?”

“I have a job for you,” she said, opening the door for me.

“Alright,” I said, getting into the car, laying my belongings at my feet. “I assume Mycroft is too busy to come brief me himself.”

“Mycroft is your patient,” she said plainly.

I sat in stunned silence for just a moment then repeated, “Mycroft is my patient?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling out her phone and sending a quick text. “He started having chest pain yesterday afternoon and was admitted to hospital. He had a mild heart attack.”

“Oh, my. Is he alright?”

“He is. But he is giving the hospital staff a difficult time. Mycroft doesn’t take well to being ordered about.”

I smiled. “Yes, I can imagine.”

“You will have to change on the plane,” she said as if I knew what she was talking about.

“What?”

I stepped out of the car as gracefully as I could in stiletto heels that I was in no way adept at walking in. Anthea had had a change of clothes awaiting me on the plane, as promised. The posh hospital, not the one whose A&E I regularly worked, had a strict visitor policy limited to immediate family only. They had relented to the bodyguard at the door, but had been firm at the suggestion of a private duty nurse not currently on their staff, hence the need for my deception. Clothed in the aforementioned heels, black tights, grey wool skirt, white silk blouse and delicate pearl necklace, I felt quite the imposter, especially when the driver took my arm and announced with a smile, “I will escort you to the room, Mrs Holmes.” 

I snuck quietly as I could into Mycroft’s room. He was asleep with the head of the bed up, laptop open but in hibernation mode. Apparently, he loathed taking his finger off the pulse of the nation for even a second. I moved the laptop aside and lowered the head of the bed until he looked a little more comfortable. He looked younger, lying there with his face relaxed and without his usual pristine suit. It was as if ten years had fallen away.

As the monitor beeped out its steady rhythm, I slipped off my shoes and curled up in the only chair available. For now, I would let him rest, but when he woke up we were going to have a conversation about stress reduction, limited alcohol intake, smoking cessation and a healthy diet consisting of regular meals and more vegetables. I knew this was going to be a challenge. But for now, it could wait. As usual, I had my book with me and I dived headfirst into a fantasy world filled with magical rings and small but formidable heroes.


	4. Power play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here is the next installment. I had hoped to get it out a day or two ago, but I have been battling a bout of the flu. Anyway, here it is. Hope you enjoy it and feel free to leave me a message.

Mycroft stepped out of the bathroom dressed in his usual three piece suit. After seeing him clothed in pyjamas for almost a week, it was refreshing to see that austere elegance surround him again. He wasn’t handsome in the way that Sherlock was with his cheekbones and riotous curls. Mycroft was more subtle in his physical attributes, that aquiline nose and a brow that was able to convey a myriad of thoughts if he so desired. I had seen more than one subordinate cower under his glare. What made him stand out was the way he carried himself. The man exuded power and it fit him as well as his bespoke suit. I noticed that the first week I had worked for him. It was incredibly sexy. 

“Serena!” he called my name, not for the first time I suspect and brought me back to the present. He raised his eyebrow and I knew he was reading me. I had to turn away for fear of him seeing me blush. I knew he couldn’t actually read minds, but what he could deduce from minor tells was unbelievable. 

I grabbed my £600 shoes and slid them on my stocking clad feet, schooling my features into what I hoped was a neutral expression before turning back. “Yes?” 

“Are you ready? Anthea has sent word that she is waiting at the front of the hospital with a car.” 

“I am.” I reached for my coat, but Mycroft was quicker and held it open for me to slide my arms into. He was ever the gentleman, and it made me wonder about the people that taught him those flawless manners. “Are you sure you don’t want to call your parents and let them know you have been ill?” 

“No!” he squeaked. “They will worry.” 

“That’s what parents are supposed to do, silly.” I smiled as he gave me that look that said I was the one being silly. 

“When Mummy worries she tends to meddle and you meddle enough for the two of you.” He grudgingly sat in the wheelchair manned by a hospital attendant that would escort him to the car. We had already had a heated discussion about that matter. 

“I am just doing my job,” I leant over and whispered in his ear, maintaining the ruse of being his wife in front of the hospital staff. 

“Then your contract has been fulfilled. Now, leave me alone,” he muttered back at me, with just a hint of childishness in his tone. 

I laughed and seeing that our escort was busy conversing with Timothy, Mycroft’s bodyguard today, I leant in again and whispered seductively, “Yes, but you didn’t hire me. Anthea did, and the job isn’t over until SHE says it’s over.” I placed a kiss on his cheek and strode over to push the button to call the lift. I’m not sure what made me do it, but the look on his face was worth it. I didn't imagine any of his other employees were so bold, but I was an affectionate woman by nature and I don't think he was as offended as he pretended to be. 

Anthea left us after making sure Mycroft was settled in at his home in Belgravia. If he was unhappy that I was spending the next few days there to make sure he behaved, he made no further mention of it. Mrs Greeves, his housekeeper, greeted us warmly and tutted over Mycroft, telling him she knew he worked too hard and should take more time for himself. She obviously cared deeply for her employer. 

After a delicious meal of roast and vegetables, Mycroft retreated to the library and I chatted with Mrs Greeves while helping with the dishes. After she had left for the evening, I wandered the house familiarising myself with its layout. Eventually, I got bored and slipped into the library. Mycroft was sitting at the desk composing an email. Being as quiet as possible, I browsed the works on the shelves behind him. The creak of his leather chair made me turn. 

Mycroft stood at a small table off to the side, crystal decanter in hand. He held it up in an offering, I nodded my acceptance and moved to join him. He poured the amber liquid and held it out for me. I took it and he turned to pour his own, frowning back at me when he noticed my hand covering the top of the other tumbler. "Serena." 

"Mycroft," I countered. Neither of us spoke another word, we just stood staring into the others eyes. And, I wondered if this was the point he ceased to find me more interesting and less irritating. "You just had a heart attack," I finally said. 

"I am fine,” he growled. 

“Yes,” I took the decanter from his hands and placed it back on the table. “You are. But only because you are young and have been healthy up to this point. Mycroft, you probably have the most stressful job anyone could have. You don’t always eat as you should and you smoke too much. Let’s give it a day or two before you go back to bad habits.” 

“I hardly think one drink will matter that much. I rarely have more than one or two in a day, some days not at all.” 

“Just give it a day or two, alright?” 

He glowered at me, stepping up into my personal space and I had to look up sharply to maintain eye contact. I felt my heart skitter in my chest at his proximity. He loomed over me. I am not a tall woman and without those infernal stiletto heels Anthea had bought me, I only came up to his shoulder. I had no doubt why his minions, as I liked to think of those under his employ, claimed him the most powerful man in all Britain or even the world. His mere physical presence and self-confidence were enough to make anyone cower before him. I knew what he was trying to do, and if I wanted to do my job effectively I had to stop this before it went any further. 

“Stop trying to intimidate me, Mycroft,” I said sternly, trying not to sound as breathless as I felt. 

It must have worked because he narrowed his eyes at me for just a second or two, then he broke out into a laugh as he stepped back. This was the laugh I had wished for in the car so many months ago. A genuine laugh. He was truly amused. “You are made of fine stuff, Serena. You are a tiny woman, but you have the courage of ten of my best agents,” he declared. “If you weren’t such a fine nurse, I would grab you up and together we could rule the world.” 

“I don’t want to rule the world,” I stammered. 

He laughed once more, grabbing the tumbler from my hand and downing the last of the whisky in salute or maybe defiance. I didn’t know which. He had me so confused. 

“No, but you would make an excellent partner in it. Now, do sit and outline your plans if not of world domination, then my pathway back to health.”


	5. Surprises around every corner

The phone rang several times and I was getting ready to hang up when the line clicked and I heard his voice. It was at that point I realised how much I had missed him. “Good Morning, Serena.”

It had been about four and a half weeks since I had left Mycroft to his own care after his heart attack. I knew he was still smoking, Anthea had told me that. But she said he had cut down considerably and he promised me he was exercising regularly. He has a treadmill at the house and I have seen him use it. He expressed the desire to be able to walk in the park or just out in the open, but his position of power within the government makes that a slightly bad idea. 

I didn’t realise exactly how important a man Mycroft was until the day after he was released from hospital and I happened to answer the house phone when Mrs Greeves was busy. When I picked up a voice on the other end asked me to please hold for a call from a member of the Royal Family. It seems that Mycroft and the Queen are dear friends. I was so stunned that I almost dropped the phone. He calls her Lilibet and she calls him Crofty. It boggles my mind that I am friends with a man that is friends with the Queen. Me, plain old me, with my ratty jeans, bare feet and ginger curls piled messily on top of my head, is friends with a friend of the Royal Family.

“Good morning, Mycroft. How is my patient feeling today?” 

“Quite well. I just returned from a visit with my cardiologist and she was pleased with my test results. I only have to continue the blood pressure medication, but she thinks I may be able to discontinue that in the near future if I am careful with my diet and exercise routine,” he announced, sounding quite satisfied.

“Fantastic! I am so happy for you.”

“Congratulate yourself, Serena. You took excellent care of me.”

I felt my cheeks flush and there was a giddy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I think I have been a widow too long if all it takes for me to feel this way is a small compliment from a man. I made a mental note to call some of my friends and arrange an evening out. Maybe I needed more social contact outside of work.

“And in thanks,” he continued, “I was wondering if you might allow me to take you to dinner.”

“Yes, I would like that.” Okay, now I am beginning to wonder if he really can read minds.

“Is your passport current?”

“My passport? I think so. Why?” 

“I have to travel to Rome for a meeting with… well, you don’t need to know that,” he paused. “I thought I could take you to dinner while I was there. I don’t believe you have ever been to Italy and I think you would enjoy it.”

Mycroft was a posh man, no doubt. Only he would invite someone to dinner in another country. “You want me to fly to Italy and have dinner with you?” I laughed, thinking how frivolous it sounded to just decide you want Italian food and fly to Rome to get it.

“Serena, I would like, if you are amenable, for you to accompany me to Rome and let me take you to dinner while we are there.”

“Mycroft, I…” I stammered. What exactly was he asking me?

“Serena, I will be staying in a rather large suite with two separate bedrooms. My meetings will take up most of two of the four days I plan to spend there. Anthea usually is my travelling companion, but she is unable to attend because her fiancé is having back surgery. It would be nice to have someone to talk to. These meetings are ever so boring and I don’t look forward to returning to an empty suite each evening.”

“You want me to…? Rome, oh, I’d love to… but what about my job? I don’t know if I can take leave again so soon.” He had me flustered. I had always wanted to go to Rome. Neville and I had talked about travelling once he got out of med school, but then he started working, we got busy and never did actually go. 

“I will provide a substitute to work in your stead, as per our usual arrangement if you will agree to go with me.”

“Yes, Mycroft. Oh, yes,” I laughed, thinking I was the luckiest person in the world to have this man as my friend.

I could hear the approval in his voice. “Good. Text Anthea with your schedule and she will notify both your employer and your replacement. I will send a car for you at five o’clock, day after tomorrow.”

After sending Anthea my schedule, I donned my sandals and a shawl and took the tube to Baker Street. I had been to 221 Baker Street once after Sherlock’s return to check on him, not that he needed me once his friend Dr Watson was back in the picture, but I had wanted to see him again and check on his wounds.

Mrs. Hudson announced my arrival and promised to be back in a little while with a pot of tea and lemon scones. Sherlock was standing at the window playing the violin when I stepped into his flat. He nodded at my presence but continued on. He played so beautifully, I think he could make a good career of it if he was so inclined. I made myself comfortable in the armchair and enjoyed the concert. Mrs Hudson brought the tea tray and then retreated back downstairs. Finishing the last few notes, Sherlock placed the violin in its case and sat across from me. “You have questions about Mycroft?” he leant back and steepled his fingers in front of him, his face neutral.

I worried my lip between my teeth before sighing. I might as well just get it out. He would just deduce my concerns anyway. “Sherlock, does Mycroft keep a mistress?”

His expression didn’t change, so I took it he wasn’t surprised by my inquiry. “Not that I am aware. And if he did, I would be the first to notice. Why?”

I wrapped my fingers around my cup, warming them. My hands had been cold since I had hung up the phone with Mycroft, despite the warm weather. “He invited me to join him on a trip to Rome for several days. I am thrilled for the opportunity to travel with him, but I can’t help but wonder…?” I shrugged, not knowing what I meant. 

“You wonder if he is inviting you along for a ‘tryst’?” Sherlock said with a thoughtful look on his face. 

“I guess,” I said, feeling ashamed of suspecting such a thing about my friend.

“Did he ask you for sex?” 

“No! Goodness, no!” I gasped. “He would never do that. He’s too much a gentleman for that.”

Sherlock smirked and it hit me, he had led me into answering my own question. “Serena, Mycroft does not let just anyone into his personal sphere and already you have sat by his bed when he was ill, you have stayed in his home and now he has asked you to travel with him. And, he has had the street your flat is on under his surveillance since November. What do you think?”

“He has my street under surveillance?” I gasped.

“Yes,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It’s his way of showing he cares.”

I shuddered, feeling somehow violated. Sherlock was watching me closely and immediately sat forward, “Serena, Mycroft is not a man that shows his feelings easily. Goodness knows he was a rubbish big brother. But he shows his concern the only way he can and that is by being overly protective. He is the most powerful man in the country. And with that position comes a certain danger to himself and those attached to him. Anyone watching him closely knows you are important to him and that puts you at risk. If you look closely you will find he keeps you ever in his sight.”

“You think I am that important to him?” I didn’t doubt that he thought of me as a friend, but did it really go so far as Sherlock thought? “I’m not smart enough to be his... whatever.” I didn’t know how to describe our relationship.

“Who has come to collect and brief you for every job he has hired you for, Serena?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at me. I knew he already knew the answer.

“Mycroft,” I said, feeling my heart rate begin to speed up.

Sherlock nodded, “Mycroft, exactly. Do you know that Mycroft always sends Anthea or one of his minions to brief every agent he hires? He never does it himself, never.”

“But, Sherlock, he has come to collect me every time he hired me. Even the first time,” I shook my head, in disbelief.

“Yes,” he smiled mischievously. “From the first time.”


	6. Startling revelations

At the appointed time, a black sedan slid to a halt outside my door. Mycroft had come to take me away again, not to nurse someone back to health, but to travel as his companion. I wondered how many others had been given this privilege. I then remembered back to my conversation with Sherlock and I felt a little hum of satisfaction. I was starting to recognise that maybe we were more than just friends. He had my whole street under surveillance, for god's sake.

I was curious, though, how my name had crossed his desk in the first place. How had I gone from widowed A&E nurse to the British government’s private consulting nurse with a security clearance, albeit a low one? He had told me several times that I had come well recommended. But by whom?

“You are unusually quiet, my dear.” Mycroft looked amused as he stood over me, a goblet of wine held out. I hadn’t heard him get out of his seat.

“Thank you,” I took the glass and sipped, letting the fruity notes burst across my tongue. Mycroft always had the finest of everything. From the jet currently taking us to our destination, (I didn’t know if it was the government’s or his own) to the beverage in my hand, it all shouted wealth and exquisite taste. Maybe the alcohol would bolster my confidence and help me ask the question.

He gave me a look that said I was being silly. “Are you going to sit there looking miserable or are you going to speak your mind, Serena? You don’t usually have a problem doing that.” I saw the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly, a grin threatened to escape. 

I gave a nervous laugh and gulped down the last of my wine. “I thought you might have deduced my thoughts.”

“I have an idea of what you are puzzling over.” He looked me in the eye, holding my gaze. I felt my heart begin to speed up every time he turned those penetrating eyes upon me. “But, I prefer you feel comfortable enough to come right out and ask me.”

He gave me my opening and I took it. “Why do you come to get me every time you need my services? Sherlock says you never do that. He said you always let Anthea or someone else do it. Yet, you have come for me from the very start!” I spat it out at him and had to take a deep breath at the end.

“Serena, I think that is obvious.” He moved closer, holding out his hand to me. I took it and he pulled me to my feet. A smile crossed his face and I knew I was seeing a rare glimpse of the real man not the suave diplomat with the icy countenance. “I like you, Serena. You are charming and attractive, an intelligent woman whose company I enjoy.” He brought my hand up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss there.

It took a second or two for my mind to come back online and realise that Timothy had entered the cabin and announced that we would be landing shortly. The moment was lost as Mycroft stepped back and began giving last minute instructions.

I absently fastened my seatbelt around me. All I could think about was that brief touch of his lips and the fact that he enjoyed my company. I felt like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

A car was waiting for us as soon as we stepped off the plane in Rome. It was getting dark and Mycroft promised me a tour of this ancient city in the daylight. I thanked him but assured him that this itself was a treat. I sat back and enjoyed the ride while he made phone calls and answered emails.

The hotel that would be our home for the next few days was a gorgeous thing, mixing old world elegance with modern day convenience. Mycroft escorted me from the car to the desk with a hand on my lower back, not a possessive gesture, just a guiding hand. The contact, though, was enough to send a spark of desire through me.

We arrived to our floor with a soft swish of the lift doors. When Timothy held the suite door open for us to enter my breath caught in my chest. I think my entire flat would have fit in this one place. He followed us in and deposited my bags in one bedroom and Mycroft’s in the other. If he suspected Mycroft had brought me here as anything other than a friend, he made no indication. But as Timothy was his most trusted bodyguard, I assume discretion was high up on his list of professional attributes.

“It’s beautiful,” I exclaimed, taking in the opulent furnishings. If this was what he was used to when he travelled, then he could invite me along every time.

Since it was late and we hadn’t had anything but cheese and fruit on the plane, Mycroft ordered a light supper of chicken with tomatoes, green beans sautéed in olive oil and gelato for desert. 

“Is it always like this?” I asked some time later, scooping up the last bite of gelato.

“Is what like this?” he asked. 

“Wine on the plane? Room service in a suite that is bigger than my flat?” I motioned to the room around us.

“You need to get a bigger flat,” his voice was serious, but I could see the mischief in his eyes. “Sometimes.” He rolled his eyes when his phone pinged with another arriving email. He paused to look at the screen briefly before laying it on the table top, not replying but keeping it nearby.

I laughed, “Sometimes you get to eat in peace, but most times you don’t?”

“Yes, something like that,” he shifted slightly, tugging at his waistcoat. “Serena, on the plane you were going to ask me something else, but you didn’t.”

I nodded, placing the folded napkin beside my empty bowl. He was staring at me. This was the gaze that made great men weak in the knees. I had seen it before, usually when he was getting ready to light up a cigarette and was watching to see if I was going to say anything. We had this unusual rapport. He towered over me with the air of a man that was comfortable ordering troops into battle and I grinned up at him, telling him how stupid he was being for setting a weed on fire and inhaling the smoke into his lungs. I am not sure if this made me brave or an idiot, but somehow, I lived to tell the tale. 

“Mycroft, what did you mean when you said I came well recommended. Who recommended me?”

He got up, taking his glass with him to stare out at the lights in the darkness, his back to me. “You have a file, Serena.”

“A file?”

“Yes, a file. We look for people like you and your late husband. People with a certain skill set. People that are intelligent, good at what they do and who have few attachments. Orphans and loners are prime candidates.”

I rose to join him, staring at his reflection in the window. “Mycroft quit being vague. Who specifically has a file?”

“Both MI5 and MI6, as well as a few others like me.”

I laughed. The idea was so absurd. “Are you telling me that we were going to be recruited to be the next Mr. and Mrs. 007? That’s ridiculous. I have no skills for that. I am a nurse, that’s all.”

Mycroft turned to me, “Serena, there are many ways to serve your country. It is not all guns and car chases like you see in films. That is a concept that is overly exaggerated. Neville was approached while he was in medical school. He turned us down, twice in fact. I assume he never told you?” he nodded at my confirmation, continuing on. “We were getting ready to approach the both of you together when he died. It fell upon me to decide whether or not to approach you after his death. Seeing your compassion for others, I made the decision to contact you again, but not for the job initially planned. I decided your healing skills were your most coveted asset.”

“So, you are in charge of hiring the medical staff?” I prodded.

“Not exactly. I found myself fascinated with you in a way I have never been with anyone before. When the occasion arose to ask for your services, I took it upon myself to meet with you.” Mycroft set his glass on the table beside him before taking my hand again and placing a chaste kiss there. “Now if you will excuse me, my dear. I find myself tired and needing rest. I will see you tomorrow.”

I bid Mycroft a good night and sat for some time staring out at the lights, trying to process all that transpired.


	7. Tokens of our affection

Mycroft was up and gone by the time I finally tumbled out of bed. I am usually an early riser, but I had trouble going to sleep after his revelation the night before. The idea of me being asked to be a government agent was preposterous. I had no special talents other than those associated with my chosen profession. I had never held a gun in my hands, and certainly hadn't fired one. I guess I had watched too many James Bond films, for I could not imagine what kind of job the government would want me for.

"Good morning, Miss," Tim appeared from the entryway with two large paper cups and I almost jumped out of my skin. I had not heard him enter the suite.

"Good morning, Tim. I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you would be with Mycroft."

"Mr Holmes will be in meetings until late this afternoon. He asked me to show you around the city, maybe take you shopping." He held out one of the cups to me, "He also said you don't like black coffee, so I got you my favourite latte."

"Thank you, Tim, that sounds lovely," I sipped it cautiously, not knowing what to expect, but I found it was surprisingly good and the shot of caffeine was welcome. "Are you sure you want to accompany me on a shopping expedition?"

Tim smiled, sipping his own drink, "No worry, ma'am. I am at your disposal."

I had gotten to know Tim when I stayed with Mycroft after he was discharged from the hospital. He was Mycroft's personal bodyguard and driver, not a government agent, although I suspected he had been an agent at one time. Tim had a room off the kitchen at Mycroft's house, being that he was at his employer's beck and call, day or night. He and I had frequently chatted in the kitchen over breakfast.

We started out our day with a little sightseeing. Timothy's aunt had lived in Rome while he was still a child and he had spent many a holiday in the old city. He knew it well enough to act as my own personal tour guide. He took me to the usual tourist spots: the Colosseum, Palatine Hill and many more. He was very patient and stayed by my side as I toured the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter's Basilica. He often added in little tidbits of information not provided by the tour guide.

By the time we stopped for food late that afternoon, I was famished. Tim knew of a small bistro, near where his aunt had lived, that was not often frequented by tourists. We sat at an outdoor table and enjoyed the delicious food. The proprietor was a wrinkled man that looked almost as old as some of the ruins I had seen today. He was a kind soul and he told me through Tim (because my knowledge of the Italian language was limited to 'hello', 'goodbye', 'thank you', and 'where is the bathroom?') that he was blessed to have a woman of such beauty in his shop that day. He was so sweet and I thanked him, knowing my cheeks were as red as my hair.

"So, do you want to do more sightseeing or do a little shopping?" Tim asked as we climbed back into the car.

"Do you mind if we go shopping? I think I would like that." I asked a little hesitantly. I knew Tim was being paid to escort me, but I didn't want to torture him.

"Sounds great. I have a place in mind. It is a small row of shops and an open air market I think you would like. There is a place there I would like to visit, too. My Gran turns 90 next week and I want to get her a gift."

Tim turned out to be a great shopping companion. He laughed and chatted with me as I explored shop after shop. I bought a variety of items ranging from sweets and a bottle of fine wine to a set of Murano glass Christmas ornaments, and finally a new dress with matching earrings. Content with the day's haul, I sat opposite Tim and asked him to help me find one more item. I wanted to buy Mycroft something special, but I had no idea where to look for what I had in mind. Tim grinned and pulled me in the direction of a shop that he thought might have the item I desired.

We were just starting back to the hotel, exhausted after a full day, when Mycroft called to say his meetings had run later than expected. He proposed that as we both were tired that we dine in the hotel restaurant rather than going back out.

Tim dropped me off at the hotel and while he went to pick up Mycroft. I took advantage of the time and showered. I was just slipping the Jimmy Choos on my feet when Mycroft walked in. He looked tired, the lines around his eyes more pronounced. I couldn't help but notice that despite the tiredness, he looked me up and down, taking in the silk blouse and wool skirt I had worn a month ago when masquerading as his 'wife'.

He nodded his approval and held out a small package for me. "I think you will find this will go quite well with what you have on."

I carefully peeled back the tissue paper to find a beautiful Pashmina shawl inside. The pale blues and gold matched my outfit perfectly and the feel of it was exquisite. "Thank you, Mycroft." I stretched up on my toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. He placed his hands on my hips and I swear he was going to kiss me, but his phone rang, spoiling the moment.

"Damn!" He pulled back and read the screen. "It's the Prime Minister."

He hesitated and I smiled up at him, saying, "It's alright, Mycroft." I turned and went to my bedroom to get his gift while he sorted out the PM.

Fifteen minutes later Mycroft knocked at my door, "I am so sorry I kept you waiting, Serena. It was a matter that couldn't be put off."

"I know and it really is alright. Your work comes first," I understood that his job was unlike mine. He never got to clock out at the end of the day and shed the mantle of responsibility. I wondered if that was why he had invited me along. Was this his way of having a social life despite the demands of his occupation? He couldn't just go out to the pub and have a date like normal people. Although, I had a hard time picturing Mycroft sitting in a pub.

He ran a hand down my silk-clad arm and grasped my hand. With his other he motioned towards the door, "Shall we have some dinner?"

Once we were in the hall, Mycroft, ever the gentleman, held out his arm for me to loop mine through. Much to my surprise, he took his other hand, placed it over mine and stroked the back of my hand with his thumb. I didn't think he was given to public displays of affection, so I was deeply honoured to be the recipient of such a grand gesture from him. I had been alone for four years since Neville had died and I had never felt the need for a relationship until now. This great man had stirred something inside of me that I thought was dead. The Holmes brothers were hard men to read, but I think I was right in thinking he wanted us to be more than friends, too.

Mycroft did not reach for my hand as we made our way back to our suite after dinner. Instead, he guided me with a hand to my lower back and I tried to ignore the frisson of heat that emanated from the contact despite the layers of cloth that lay between our skin. He lead me to the balcony where he had ordered a bucket of ice and champagne to be placed while we were at dinner. I so enjoyed his company and wished we could stay in Rome, just like this, forever. I knew we had to return to London and our own lives eventually. With that in mind, I put my flute of champagne aside and pulled the small box out of my skirt pocket.

"I bought these for you." If he noticed my hand shaking as I held out the box, he didn't comment, although, I could see him reading me. "They are silver. All your others I have seen have been silver."

"Yes, I prefer it over gold." He pulled one of the cufflinks out and inspected it, "It's a working compass. How unusual."

I hoped he didn't think I was being silly, but I wanted to get him something to convey my thanks and my affection for him. "This is probably presumptuous of me, but I wanted you to know that I am very fond of you Mycroft. And I know you will often have to travel away from England," I took a deep breath, "But, I want you to have these so you will always be able to find your way back to London. And me." I couldn't look him in the eye, for fear of rejection.

"Serena?" His voice was much closer than it had been a moment ago. Standing beside me, he placed a finger under my chin and prodded me to look up. "Stand up, please."

The need I saw in his eyes sent a shiver of excitement through my body and I had to steady myself with one hand on the railing. He must have noticed, for he slid one arm around my waist and pulled me against him. "My sweet, sweet Serena," he whispered and then his other hand was in my hair and his lips met mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took them long enough. :-)


	8. Breathless

For someone who seemed so cold and unemotional at times, Mycroft was putting a lot of emotion into one kiss. His left hand tangled in my curls, pulling gently, and his other pressed into my lower back, bringing our bodies flush against each other. I fisted my hands in the lapels of his suit jacket and stretched up to deepen the kiss. His hand on my back began to drift downward, cupping my bum and then down further, tugging at my skirt. 

Oh God! I had not been intimate with anyone for four years. Four, long, years! My ears were ringing from the lack of oxygen. When Mycroft pulled back, I realised it wasn’t my ears but his mobile. He pulled it out of his pocket and silenced the sound. He placed it on the table before he found my lips again. He tasted wonderful. I think I could have done just this all night long. Gracefully, he manoeuvred us until we were inside the room again, my back to the wall. He released my hair and started to untuck my shirt. My hands worked on their own accord, undoing all those damn buttons on his waistcoat. The fewer the layers of cloth between us, the happier I would be.

I was the next one to pull back, feeling my mobile buzzing in my pocket. Mycroft did me the favour of sliding his hand in to retrieve the offending device and placing it on the chair by the door before returning his hands to my hips. He rucked my skirt all the way up and pinned me against the wall, pulling my legs up to wrap around him. His hands caressed the back of my thighs before moving back to squeeze my bum again. 

I slid my hands under the hem of his shirt and pulled it out of the back of his trousers. The skin beneath was warm and inviting and he gasped as I raked my nails across the muscles of his back. A giggle escaped from my throat and I reached up to cup his shoulders from behind, holding on as his hips bucked forward, rubbing his hardened cock against my center. "Fuck me, Mycroft," I whispered into his ear.

The words had just barely left my lips when his mouth moved to capture mine. His tongue probed and slid in a frantic need to join with my own and I met it with equal fervor. I had always liked kissing and Mycroft seemed inclined to give me my fill. The harder we kissed the harder he pressed against me and I wondered if we both were young and limber enough for him to enter me against the wall. I was getting ready to pull back and suggest that we move to the bedroom when the simultaneous chiming of text alerts on our phones broke us from our passionate embrace. Mycroft released my lips and slid his fingers back from where they had crept under the edge of my knickers. He leant his forehead against mine, both of us panting for air. 

“Sherlock!” we said together. 

I giggled as he mumbled something derogatory about ‘little brothers’ and huffed an irritated sigh. “Go on. Call him,” I nodded towards the phone. “He won’t stop until someone answers.”

Mycroft released my legs and when he was sure I had my footing once again, stepped around the doorway to retrieve his phone. 

“Yes, Sherlock?” he growled when the call connected. 

“Filing again, brother dear? You know you shouldn’t exert yourself so soon after having a heart attack,” I could hear Sherlock say, as Mycroft leant over me putting his lips to my forehead. “Oh,” Sherlock continued, “I forgot you have your own personal nurse. Do give my best wishes and congratulations to the lucky lady. Now, tell me all you know about an assassin group that goes by the name of AGRA.”

After a few minutes I realised the conversation wasn't going to end soon so I ducked under Mycroft’s arm, that was braced against the wall, and smoothed my skirt back in place before I went into my room. As much as I loved to hear the brothers bicker back and forth, my mind was elsewhere. I could still feel my pulse throbbing between my legs. I sat down on the bed and pulled my shoes off, deciding to make myself comfortable. I had no idea when Mycroft was going to be free again because as soon as I heard him tell Sherlock goodbye, his phone rang again. And again. The pattern kept up until I crawled under the covers and dozed off.

I’m not sure when Mycroft had finished dealing with whatever crisis had arisen, but he was gone when I got up. He was away for another long day of meetings. He did, however, leave me a note in his clean, confident script: “My dearest Serena, I do apologise for the interruptions yesterday evening. It was unavoidable. I hope you will forgive me. Timothy will be bringing you a package. Please try it on and see if it suits you. I hope you will join me this evening at a small celebratory gathering. I will see you at six o’clock.” There were no flowery words or declarations of undying love, but for a Holmes, it was almost prose. 

‘My dearest Serena’, I read the words over and over in my head. I hadn’t felt this giddy since I was a teenager at Uni and a handsome man had slid into the seat next to mine and said, “My friend told me you are studying to be a nurse. I am going to be a doctor. Why don’t we study anatomy together?” I had slapped his face then and once more before taking him up on the offer to study. We both passed Anatomy class with excellent marks and were engaged before the end of the year. 

I didn’t plan to slap Mycroft. After all, I had known him for three years. Most importantly, I was no innocent young girl and I had been a willing participant in the events of last night. I was looking forward to tonight with keen interest.

Tim arrived midmorning with a large box, as promised. "Mr Holmes said you were to try it on. He said it should fit you, but if you don't like it, I am to fetch the other." He smiled before adding, "He seemed to think this is the one you would like best, though. Said it would compliment your hair, perfectly."

I pulled at the ribbon encircling the package with the same enthusiasm as a child on Christmas morn. I gaped at the contents, an elegant dress that was truly stunning, sapphire blue with lace sleeves and tiny beads sewn on the skirt, creating a sparkle that reminded me of stars in the night sky. 

Tim sat on the arm of the sofa watching me, grinning the whole time. "Go on, see if it fits," he gestured towards the bedroom. "Knowing him, though, I bet it fits you perfectly."

I took the box and shut the door behind me. When I pulled the dress all the way out, I discovered matching lacy undergarments beneath and in my very size. Had Mycroft guessed my size? No, he never guessed. That mad genius had looked at me and deduced what size bra and knickers I wore. I blushed at the thought of him sending Tim or Anthea to buy me underwear.

"Come on, Serena," Tim called through the door. "Let's see what you look like."

"I'm coming," I replied, as I threw off what I was wearing and slipped the dress on. I marvelled at the quality. I don't think this was something sold in just any old shop and it fit me too well to not have been made just for me.

Tim nodded his approval when I stepped into the other room. "He was right, it does suit you. Do you like it?"

"I do. Oh Tim, I do. But, what is all this about? Why is he sharing this with me?" I said, indicating the dress, the room and the city beyond the walls.

Tim smiled at me, "You make him happy."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

"Tim, will you tell me the truth?"

"Of course."

"Am I his new mistress? Sherlock says he doesn't keep one, but I thought..."

Tim chuckled quietly, "I can assure you Mycroft has never had one as long as I have worked for him, Serena. You don’t need to worry, I think you are what is called his ‘girlfriend’.”

I laughed. Tim was being silly. Did great men like Mycroft have anything as mundane as girlfriends? Wife, mistress or lover perhaps, but girlfriend?

Tim left me shortly thereafter, but not before giving me one more gift. This one had me blushing more than the underwear had.


	9. Why bring a book when I have you?

I stared at the box in my hands. This gift wasn't from Mycroft. It was from Anthea and Timothy. He had been so bold as to tell me so, just before he stepped out the door with a wink of the eye. Oh, that cheeky bastard! They had bought me condoms. Mycroft's PA and his personal bodyguard thought Mycroft and I were going to have sex and had bought us condoms. How embarrassing! Even though I wanted it to happen, I didn't like everyone knowing it. I put them aside and picked up the other box Tim had given me after I tried on the dress. It was another pair of designer shoes, this time with sparkles and a shorter heel. I was somewhat relieved. I would hate to embarrass Mycroft in front of his peers by falling off my shoes.

It was still early, but I decided to start the process of getting ready for tonight. I ordered lunch from room service hoping it would tide me over until dinner tonight. Then I would shower and fix my hair, maybe a French twist with some curls around my face. I should be able to do that without too much trouble and I had a jeweled comb with me that would be perfect to secure it with.

Mycroft walked in the door just as I was finishing my makeup. He stopped mid-stride with the door open, brolly in hand. "Oh, my!" he gasped. I assumed at that point that I had done a good job. I was usually a minimalist when it came to makeup, but I had gone all out today. I hoped it looked as good with my dress as it did with pyjamas. "You look lovely," he finally managed to get out, shutting the door behind him. I laughed. Score one for me; I made Mycroft Holmes nearly speechless.

The next thirty minutes were a flurry of activity. Mycroft showered and dressed in his evening wear. I donned my dress and shoes but waited on the sofa for Mycroft to help me with the back of my dress. When he kissed the nape of my neck after buttoning all twelve buttons, I wondered if he had picked this particular dress for me so he could perform that very act. I could not help but moan at the intimacy of the gesture and Mycroft smiled rakishly down at me. I was learning there was a very passionate man beneath that cold façade he put up.

I slipped my silk shawl around my shoulders, smiling at how well it matched my attire. Mycroft must have had this dress in mind when he purchased it. I wondered if he ever let his mind go silent and stopped planning.

Before stepping out the door, he pinned me with a sharp gaze and held out his hand. "Leave it, Serena."

"But…"

"I promise that you won't have time to read. If you find yourself getting bored, all you have to do is ask and I will provide you with a diversion. Now leave the book!" He said it sternly and if I hadn't been able to see the mischief in his eyes I would have thought he was angry with me. I relented and handed Poe over to him and he glanced approvingly at the book he had given me some time ago. He placed it on the table and ushered me out the door, holding his arm out for me to entwine with his.

We were driven to an elaborate stone mansion, surrounded by lush gardens. It was gorgeous, later I would have to ask him about the building's history. It reminded me of the Palace in London. Mycroft escorted me from the car into the house where we were greeted by any number of elegant couples, all of them in the similar fancy dress. I felt a little out of my element and was reluctant to let go of Mycroft's arm. He must have sensed my discomfort, for he occasionally would whisper in my ear something like: 'Are you alright?'or 'Relax, I won't leave you alone.'

The evening went by quite fast, faster than I had expected. The food was excellent and Mycroft kept giving me flutes of champagne after I told him I dearly loved it. I am not sure if he was trying to get me tipsy or if he was trying to keep me relaxed. Either way, it worked and I began declining them when I began to feel the slight dizziness that let me know I had drunk just a little too much. I was not pissed, but pleasantly carefree and untroubled.

Mycroft introduced me to several people, including one very famous American actor and his wife. I gathered through their conversation that this had been some kind of humanitan/health-related conference they had been attending.

When the music began and couples moved towards the dance floor, I was startled to find myself among them. I remember my dad teaching me to waltz when I was a little girl but was surprised to find that it came back to me so easily. I silently thanked Dad for the lessons. Mycroft was surprisingly graceful for someone of his height, and I could not stop myself from wondering what else he was good at.

At the end of the dance, Mycroft suggested we step outside for a moment. The evening air felt delightful after the stuffiness of the dance floor. There were quite a few people enjoying the breeze. Mycroft led me to a quiet area at the far end of the garden. The bench we sat upon looked to be made of marble, and I thought I would love to have a garden much like this with a marble bench, too.

We could hear the music continue in the distance and the quiet chatter of others in the garden, but we were essentially alone. I felt Mycroft shift beside me, reaching into his coat to take something out.

"Please don't."

"Serena, it is just one."

"I know, but you don't need to smoke. Remember your heart," I chided.

Not missing a beat, Mycroft replied. "My heart belongs to you, Serena."

"Well, you better take good care of it then." I turned to him and leant over to whisper in his ear, "Besides, when you snog me silly in the car I want to taste you, not your nasty cigarette. That might make me want to sleep alone tonight."

I could see Mycroft studying me from the corner of his eye and I wondered what thoughts were going through his mind. Did he tire of my prodding into matters of his health? Did he think me too bold and feel as if I were overstepping my bounds? Did he wish for a more docile companion?

Unexpectedly, he laughed, slid the cigarettes back into his jacket and called for the car. We said our goodbyes and were on our way back to the hotel within fifteen minutes. This wasn't the response I had intended, but it was the right one. With the divider up between us and the driver, Mycroft unfastened the seat belt and slid over to begin snogging me. I take it he didn't want to sleep alone, especially when his hand slipped under my gown and stroked up my thigh. "See, Serena, I told you that you didn't need to bring a book."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it was a natural stopping point. More to come though.


	10. It's all about intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up considerably!

We managed to compose ourselves just before the limousine driver opened the door, letting Mycroft exit first, then holding out his hand for me. I don’t know how, but I got the feeling he knew exactly what we had been doing on the drive back. He gave me a knowing look before bidding us goodnight. Mycroft again took my arm in his and we moved through the hotel reception area to the lifts. We were alone in the lift, but when I turned towards him, Mycroft shook his head and nodded towards the security camera. I nodded and waited for the doors to open. 

It was hard not to lean in or touch him as he opened the suite door. I wanted him so much the wait was killing me. As the door thudded shut, I found myself spun around and my chest pressed against it. Mycroft’s hips ground into me once before he began to unbutton my dress, his tongue laving at my nape at the same time. I heard him swear and I knew he was cursing those buttons, those very same ones he had decided he wanted on my dress. It sounded so out of place coming from his posh lips, I couldn’t help but let out a laugh that turned into a moan as he nipped the sensitive skin where my neck met my shoulder.

He pushed the sleeves off my arms and let the dress slide down my body. Mycroft may be tall and trim, but he was strong. He lifted me into his arms and carried me to his bed. Setting me on my feet, he grabbed the bottom edge of my slip and yanked it up and over my head. So, there we were with me in nothing but my lacy underwear and shoes, and he was fully dressed. That was going to change. I kicked off my shoes and pulled him near. “You have to take your clothes off, My."

He raised a brow at my shortening of his name. If he disliked it, he didn't comment. He instead tossed his bow tie to the floor and began undoing his own buttons.

I slid to the middle of the bed, watching him toss his clothes aside like a randy teenager, not the graceful, cultured man I was familiar with. I giggled and he shot me a hungry look ashis trousers pooled at his feet. "Do you have condoms or do I need to get the ones Tim and Anthea gave me?"

"My staff gave you condoms? Whatever for?" he stammered uncharacteristically.

I giggled again. Mycroft Holmes was standing at the foot of the bed, clad only in silk boxers, sporting a quite prominent erection and asking why we needed condoms. "To use. For this," I gestured between the two of us. 

He gave me a look I saw him give Sherlock once. The look that said he thought I was being unreasonably obtuse. "We don't need them. I am clean and you are likewise."

I raised up on my knees and glared at him, "Mycroft Holmes, have you been hacking into my medical file?" That only earned me a roll of his eyes. "Privacy, Mycroft. We have to talk about privacy."

He gave me an annoyed look as he crawled onto the bed and reached for me. "Yes, later."

I playfully evaded his grasping fingers. "So, do you have condoms or not?"

"I told you, I am disease free, as are you. We do not need them." He crawled forward pinning me against the headboard and crushing his lips against mine. His long fingers cradled my head and began pulling the comb and pins out of my hair, allowing it to fall around my shoulders. He released my lips and placed the items on the bedside table.

"What about the condoms, Mycroft?" I whispered into his ear, relishing the feel of skin on skin as we wrapped our arms around each other.

"Serena, I told you, we don't need them." His hands made quick work of my bra clasp and he flung the offending garment to the side.

I put my hand in the middle of his pale chest and pushed him back, ignoring his groan of frustration. "The only thing I am afraid of catching from you is pregnancy, My. I haven't had a sexual partner since Neville, therefore, I haven't felt the need for contraception. So, unless you are willing to risk it, we need condoms."

He took an inordinately long time mulling over his answer. Finally, he leapt off the bed, his fingers circling my wrist and tugging me behind him as he rushed to my room. "I assume they are in here. Get them," he commanded impatiently.

This was a side of Mycroft I could get used to, hungry, wanting, and quite impatient. I kept my movements deliberately slow, pulling the condoms out of the dresser drawer where I had placed them earlier. This was worth delaying my own pleasure, watching him watch me like a wolf hunting prey. I must have taken it just a step too far because he grabbed me around the waist and threw me on the bed, covering my body with his. He kissed his way down my chest, stopping to show sweet affection to both nipples before continuing on. He hooked his fingers in the top of my knickers and swept them down and off. “Mmm, shaved. My favourite.” I couldn’t help but giggle at his confession.

I giggled again as he placed a kiss just above my cleft, his breath tickling the sensitive skin there. His head popped up and he stared at me, puzzled, “Is something funny? I have never felt the need to laugh during sex before.”

I outright laughed this time, “Then you have been doing it all wrong, My.” I decided I liked calling him ‘My’. ‘My’ as in my friend and my lover. 

He tried to suppress a grin when he said, “I doubt that. I have never had anyone complain before.”

I tugged at his hand, wanting him to climb back up to me. “It’s all about intimacy. Someone you feel so comfortable with to let yourself be totally open in your most secret moments. Oh, God…..” His fingers were magic as they parted my folds and slipped inside, causing me to arch involuntarily.

I felt his body shake with his own genuine laugh as he slid upwards to kiss me, yet keeping his fingers in place, gently sliding in and out. “Like this?”

“Yes, just like that!” I moaned, arching again, overwhelmed with the sensation. “Now, Mycroft. Now. Get your clothes off and get the damn condom on!” I didn’t think I was going to be able to last much longer.

The air felt cool against my skin when he pulled away to slip out of his boxers, I watched with rapt interest as he ripped open the foil and rolled the condom on. I gasped, thinking this might be uncomfortable, considering it had been four years since I had sex last. 

Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed and looked over his shoulder at me. “Come here, Serena. I want us to be able to see each other.”

A warm feeling rushed through me. I placed a kiss upon his lips before I straddled his lap, taking him in hand and guiding him to my entrance. I slowly sank down until he was fully inside of me. His fingers wrapped around my hips in a possessive grasp and my I began to move, moaning in delight at the sensation of being filled once again.


	11. In the bed of the British Government

Mmm, warm. And safe. And oh, so comfortable. I hardly noticed the hand that caressed my cheek or the kiss that was placed on my brow as I slipped through that gossamer veil between wake and sleep into that ephemeral realm of joy and contentment. There were no nightmares or loneliness, only sweet promises of affection and protection.

Sometime during the night I had curled up against him, laying my head upon his shoulder. Now that the sun was peaking over the horizon, he held me in his arms, looking down at me as I let my eyes flutter open. I yawned and stretched, feeling the protest of sore muscles and a pleasant chafed sensation in a certain intimate area, a testament of our carnal activities. 

We greeted each other with the sweet caress of lips and a gentle tangling of tongues. Breaking the kiss, he whispered, “Good morning,” before he ducked down and swept my nipple into his mouth. He teased and suckled on one, then the other, until heat pooled between my legs and I moaned. Below, I felt a finger ghost back and forth over my clitoris as his teeth nipped and tugged at my breast. And before I knew it, I was writhing in ecstasy as wave after wave of orgasm swept over me.

I was still feeling as if my limbs were boneless when room service knocked on our suite door. Mycroft donned his dressing gown before he threw the duvet over me and shut the bedroom door lest the poor delivery boy glimpse my nude form as he wheeled the breakfast laden tray into the sitting area.

Mycroft returned to the room with a cappuccino and a brioche roll in hand. “Do you want to eat, Serena?”

“Not yet,” I hummed, still riding the high of a spectacular orgasm. “I can’t feel my toes.” 

Mycroft chuckled and I heard a flurry of buzzes as he cut his phone on. Last night he had sent a text to Anthea telling her he would have his phone off, but if she thought a situation had arisen that couldn't wait until the morning she could call my phone.

I closed my eyes and tried to catch the edge of a doze as he replied to texts and emails. I don't think I must have slept more than fifteen minutes at the most when I felt a full bladder demanding I get up. 

When I got back from the bathroom and pulled on my dressing gown, Mycroft was sitting on the edge of the bed talking to someone on his phone. “Yes, tell the Prime Minister that I am aware of the situation and have my best people on it... Yes, thank you. Oh, and Anthea, tell Lady Smallwood I will take her request into consideration when I get back... Alright, yes, goodbye.”

“Do we need to go back?” I wasn’t certain what classified as an emergency in his world, was this one?

“No, Serena. It pays to have good people working for you. Anthea is more than capable of handling the Prime Minister.”

I laughed at the thought of the Prime Minister wanting to talk to Mycroft and being held at bay by the lovely Anthea. “She’s quite the PA, isn’t she? She certainly goes the extra mile.”

“Yes,” he answered me, giving me a stern look. “What, Serena?”

I tried to keep a straight face and knew I was failing miserably. “I don’t imagine buying condoms for the boss’ romantic liaison is clearly stated in many job descriptions?”

He shot me a ‘go to hell’ look. “That had nothing to do with me. What she and Timothy do behind my back… I had nothing to do with that,” he repeated. “I cannot help that they like to meddle in my private life.”

I smiled and watched him fidget nervously before getting up to set his half eaten pastry on the tray. He wasn’t angry at them, I think he was embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of the need himself. I knew that if he had been angry at them, they would no longer be employed. Mycroft liked to run a tight ship and was intolerant of insubordination. “Mycroft, I have a feeling that the gesture was one of affection. I think they worry that you have no private life to speak of.” I held up a hand to him, “Wait a minute, I am not done. Mycroft you eat, sleep, and breathe that job. Britain is safe because of you. But you deserve a life outside of that. They want you to be happy like they are. Anthea has Warren and Tim has Jeremy to warm their beds at the end of the day. And they want the same for you.”

“Jeremy? Jeremy Greeves? My bodyguard and my housekeeper's son are...” 

“Lovers? Yes. I take it you didn’t know?”I asked, feeling giddy at the thought that I had noticed something he hadn’t.

“No,” he admitted with reluctance. “Did he tell you?”

I shook my head, “Nope, figured it out the first day after you came home from hospital. His face lit up when Jeremy would walk in the room. They confirmed my suspicion a couple of days later when I caught them kissing in the kitchen. I am surprised you haven’t noticed.”

“I must have noticed at some time and have deleted the information, as it is inconsequential,” he huffed, glaring at me.

“Oh, come on My,” I giggled. “You are not Sherlock. Besides, everyone makes mistakes, even you.”

“I do not! Now change the subject,” he demanded childishly.

I laughed, picking up a pastry and sitting on the other side of the bed with my legs crossed beneath me. “Alright, I’ll change the subject. Last night when we were debating the need for condoms, you took a long time to answer me. What was that all about?”

“I think that should be clear.” He gave me the look that said he didn’t think I was using my brain at all.

“Um, well, it’s not. Why did you hesitate?” The laughter died on my lips and I was a bit shorter with him than I meant to be. He was being frustratingly vague.

He sighed and turned towards me, his hair mussed and sticking up rather sexily. “Because, the thought of having children with you is not that ridiculous of an idea. I believe that the combination of my DNA with yours would produce a child of above average intelligence. Hopefully, with the right nurturing the child would be at least as smart as Sherlock.”

“So, you would want to have a child with me?” Did he just tell me what I think he did?

“I believe I just made that completely clear,” he raised that brow at me, looking amused and smug at the same time.

“Mycroft, do you mean having a child with me like a surrogate kind of thing where I have it and give it up to you to raise?” My mouth and throat were suddenly dry and I lay the pastry on the coffee table for fear of choking if I tried to swallow even the tiniest bite.

“Serena, I would never choose to separate a mother from her child, because I would never have a child with a woman that I would not want in my life.”

My heart pounded in my chest, this time in joy. I think that was Holmes-speak for a declaration of love. I ran to him and he enveloped me in his arms. “I love you too, My.”


	12. Dizzy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I love angst.

Sherlock sat, watching the still form on the exam room table. He could see a bruise beginning to form on her cheek and her lip was split. Mycroft was going to be furious. When he felt the lump where her head had slammed against the brick, he would be monstrous.

The man had grabbed her from behind as she was unlocking her flat door. She had fought valiantly, hitting, kicking, and even leaving her mark upon her attacker’s face with her nails. Sherlock wondered what the outcome would have been had he not been coming to visit her and arrived when he did. She was strong for someone her size but her attacker was a great ogre of a man, hired for his size and lack of concern regarding the use of brute force. 

Her change in the depth and rate of respiration told Sherlock she was waking. The x-ray John had taken had ruled out a skull fracture and brain bleed, but he suspected she was concussed based on her loss of consciousness immediately following the injury. Not feeling comfortable letting her go home yet, John had wanted her to rest in the empty exam room and he was coming to check on her between patients. Having worked last night, she was tired and promptly fell asleep as soon as the adrenaline rush wore off. Sherlock had wanted to wake her up, keep her awake, but John had encouraged her to sleep. He explained that it was okay to let someone with a concussion sleep if they were monitored closely. He wanted to be nearby when she roused to make sure she was able to fully wake and pass a simple neurological exam.

*****************************

I forgot where I was and what had happened. And, when I tried to sit up I fervently wished I hadn’t. “Don’t move. You need to make a position change slowly,” Sherlock’s deep baritone drawled softly in my ear. “It isn’t uncommon for someone with a head injury to have bouts of dizziness.”

He needn’t have explained, because when I moved my head and opened my eyes to look at him, a bolt of pain like I have never felt before slammed through my skull upsetting my equilibrium and making the room spin violently. I must have been listing too far one way or the other in my efforts to gain purchase on my revolving world, for I found myself half-reclining in Sherlock’s lap as he slid us both to the floor and called for John. I tried to use my hands to keep my head from exploding but found that even my own touch was intolerable.

Mary was the first to enter followed immediately by John. I couldn’t understand words at that point, it all was a great cacophony of harsh angles and thudding bass. The cool tiles beneath me brought some relief as a wave of nausea rose and ebbed, brought on by the vertigo. I knew if I could just stay still, it all would pass. 

It did pass, but not before I expelled the contents of my stomach into a wash basin that Mary thrust under my chin just in time. Sherlock handed me a folded handkerchief and she took the basin away. He was so kind to me, looking down sympathetically where I still lay in his lap. I knew he was remembering the day that our positions had been reversed and I was the one reassuring him that what he was feeling was temporary.

John squatted at my side, shining the penlight in my eyes checking for the telltale signs of a more serious head injury. I then followed his finger with my eyes and repeated my name, address, and the current date. Satisfied that I had passed, he helped me to my feet, taking guard on one side of me while Sherlock stood at the other, ready to grab me should I begin to fall. I didn’t and after reviewing what symptoms to look for with Sherlock he let me go, not home, but to Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson was a saint, fussing over me like I was her own. Satisfied that I was safely ensconced in his bed, Sherlock handed over my care to his landlady and disappeared. I assumed he had gone with Scotland Yard to apprehend my attacker. God help the poor man if Sherlock was anything like Mycroft. Tim had told me stories of drug dealers gone missing after Sherlock had overdosed the last time before getting clean. Mycroft and Sherlock were fiercely protective of those they cared for.

As my head cleared, I began to wonder why I hadn’t heard from Mycroft. He usually called me morning and evening if he had to be away. I talked to him last night about midnight when I took my lunch break at work. That was the last time. I had no doubt he knew what had happened to me. Sherlock might not have called his brother, but Mycroft’s minions had ample time to notify him. Even if they had missed the attack on CCTV, the police report should have gotten someone’s attention. I sent him a text telling him I missed him. I didn’t want to worry him if he was ignorant of my condition, yet if he knew but was in a meeting and couldn't respond, he would be reassured of my well-being.

I woke up to the smell of Mycroft’s aftershave. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, my hand clasped in his. He and Sherlock were softly discussing my attacker. 

“You are sure he acted alone?”

“Yes, Mycroft. I witnessed the attack myself. I was going to check to make sure she got home safely from work since you were out of the country. I arrived just as he grabbed her.”

“I am thankful, Sherlock. She is important to me.”

“I know,” Sherlock acknowledged Mycroft’s rare confession of sentiment. “Although, if it hadn’t been for the man being so much bigger than her, I think she may have had hopes of keeping him at bay until someone noticed her plight and intervened. She is quite the fierce one when she gets mad.”

“Yes, I am aware.” Mycroft nodded, thinking of the day she had rebutted his attempts to intimidate her with his height. 

“You cannot provide her with her own bodyguard?” Sherlock asked.

“I can and will. But, since she is not family, I cannot utilise government resources to protect her like I do you, Mummy and Father.”

Sherlock smirked down at his brother, “I assume you have a plan to rectify that situation, then?”

Mycroft shifted on the bed, pulling something out of his suit jacket and handing it to Sherlock. “I have had a plan for some time. I made a mistake in the timing, though. And, she had to suffer for it.”

“Grand-mere’s ring? How utterly sentimental of you.” Sherlock inspected the item before handing it back with a genuine smile, “She’s awake, you know?”

“I am aware,” Mycroft pulled my hand to his lips as I heard Sherlock leave, closing the bedroom door softly behind him.

“I missed you,” I sighed, unable to control the tears that insisted on escaping my eyes. I absently fingered the cufflinks that I had bought him. “I was so scared! I was afraid they would come after you next and all I wanted was to touch you and make sure you were safe.”

He pulled me up into his arms and I cried. The harder I sobbed, the tighter he held me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sorry. I love angst.


	13. Cotton Wool

Since the attack, Mycroft had seldom let me out of his sight except for when he went to work and then he had assigned Timothy as my companion during those hours. He had even had most of my things moved from my flat to the house so I wouldn’t have to go out. I protested vehemently, not the being together under one roof, but the restriction on my activities. I am a nurse, an A&E nurse at that, I think I know the consequences of a head injury and the management thereof. I was overruled by almost everyone, Mrs Greeves and Jeremy included. Jeremy had taken to stopping by after work to, as he put it, spend some time with his mum and Tim. I knew he was just taking his turn at keeping me entertained. 

Sherlock was the only one that didn’t try to wrap me in cotton wool. Although, he did inform John that I was having the occasional episode of vertigo, hence the good doctor’s refusal to release me to go back to work. I guess it was a good thing because the other thing I hadn't told anyone was that if I read more than one chapter in a book or worked at a computer screen the dull ache in the back of my head turned into an iron band that threatened to crush my skull. I think Mycroft knew it, but instead of berating me for not telling anyone, he offered to read to me or watch a movie with me, as I could tolerate the telly long enough for that.

By the end of the week I was going stark raving mad. Unable to occupy myself with a book or any kind of physical activity, my only respite was helping Mrs Greeves in the kitchen and she insisted I do everything from a seated position. My downfall was when Sherlock had stopped coming around. He was on some important case requiring him to go undercover. I was to the point of stealing some of Mycroft’s cigarettes and going out to the garden to smoke them, just to get out of the house. The problem was that I didn’t smoke. Oh well, the nicotine would probably have exacerbated my headaches anyway.

I was contemplating mass murder or resorting to overdosing on pain pills when Mycroft surprised me by walking in the door, several hours early. He rolled his shoulder, wincing slightly as he handed his umbrella and coat to my waiting hands.

“Mycroft, what’s wrong with your arm?” I asked, taking the proffered items.

“Why do you think there is something wrong with my arm?” He glared at me and headed straight to the library. I stepped back as he pushed past me. He had never spoken to me in that tone before. I hung up his brolly and coat, then hovered at the library door. He was standing at the window, nursing a glass of what I suspected was his finest Scotch. He stood there, not focusing on anything inside or outside the window pane, nor did he consume the whisky. 

“It’s pretty elementary actually,” I said, walking right up to him and taking the tumbler from him. I downed the contents before he could react.

“How dare you?” he turned to me, eyes blazing. “I am in no mood for this. Go away, Serena!”

Since we had become lovers, he had never neglected to greet me with affection until today. I am not sure whether I was just craving a fight, brought on by the monotony and the annoying coddling, or if I really desired to know what had made him behave like an arse. Honestly, I think I was just spoiling for a fight myself and therefore I baulked at his warning by shouting, “No! I am not one of your minions to be ordered about, you arrogant prick.”

“I said, leave me alone!” he growled at me.

“No!” I growled back at him, placing my hands on my hips in defiance. “I will not walk out of this room until you have let me check your arm and shoulder.”

He stared at me for the longest time before pulling off his suit jacket and slinging it over the nearest chair in anger. He never treated his fine garments with such carelessness, or at least not since our first time together. Something was bothering him and it wasn’t just his arm. That made me forget my anger and instead, I was suddenly worried for him. He watched me warily as I stepped forward and gently took his limb, checking the range of motion in every joint from the fingers up to the shoulder. I took his arm through all the movements, flexion and extension, supination and pronation, abduction and adduction. Oh, how interesting. It wasn't just a case of him having slept wrong; someone had hurt him. By the time I stepped back, his face had relaxed and he looked more curious than annoyed.

“Someone forced your arm behind your back, and not very gently at that,” I said simply, beginning to massage the muscles in his shoulder, neck and back.

“You said 'elementary'?” his eyes roamed over me in that assessing way he had, letting me know he was trying to work out how I knew what had happened. 

“Yes,” I nodded. 

“Tell me how you made the correct deduction.” Kudos for me, I was right. He had been in a physical altercation.

“It’s not really a deduction. I’ve just been trained to notice. I’m a nurse, remember? Not all my patients can talk and I have to figure some things out for myself.”

He smiled at me over his shoulder, so different from how he looked just a minute ago. “Tell me. What did you see that led you to make your diagnosis before you actually examined my arm?”

“Oh, all right. You came in the door, holding that arm stiffly, and you winced when you handed me your things. That and you usually carry your coat and brolly in your left arm, but you had it in your right,” I shrugged. “I’ve seen it before, but usually in intoxicated pub patrons, not high-ranking government officials. You lot are usually more civilised.”

“My apologies. I was upset and had no right to treat you that way. I am sorry.” He turned his head and placed a kiss on my cheek.

“It’s all right,” I sighed, turning and flopping down on the sofa. “I’m sorry, as well. I was looking for a fight, too. Will you tell me what happened?”

Mycroft let out a long sigh and rubbed a hand down his face. “Sherlock is using again.” I could tell by the way he slowly sank into the sofa beside me that he was deeply distressed.

“Oh, no! Are you sure?” I didn’t want to believe he had gone down that path again. 

“I am. John had Molly Hooper confirm it with a urine toxicology screen at St. Bart’s.”

“I am sorry, My. What are you going to do?” I slid over and he held his good arm up for me to duck under and lay against him. 

“I left him in John’s care. There is nothing else I can do. He swears it is for a case. I did call our parents and let them know. They are going to fly back to England tomorrow morning. They said to tell you they hope you are feeling better and are looking forward to meeting you.” He closed his eyes and pulled me tight against him.

“I’m looking forward to meeting them. I want to meet the great people that produced the man I love.”

Mycroft pulled back just enough that I could see his face. “Serena, I am afraid you will find them intolerably dull. They are just…parents.”

“And, I don’t have any. Remember?”

His lips met mine in a brief caress. “Yes, I do. And, you know I would bring them back if it was within my power.”

He leant in again and we deepened the kiss. When the need for oxygen became too much, I pulled away. “I know you would, and I appreciate the thought. You have done so much for me, Mycroft. I was just going through the motions of living before you came to get me to take care of Sherlock. I missed Neville, I still do. He was a good man and my world ended when he died. But in all the years after he died the only time I can really say I was happy was when you called me to come work for you. Not because the work was different or exciting, but because I got to be with you. I love you, Mycroft, and I will be here with you through this.”

“You are a great woman, Serena, and I love you as well.” Mycroft took my hand and nudged the ring there with his thumb. “Grand-mere would have liked you.”

“I just hope your parents will.” 

“They already do. Now, why don’t you join me upstairs, my dear? I find the need to pleasure you until you want to scream. I have Dr Watson's assurances that as long as we don't get up to anything too vigorous such as swinging from the ceiling, your health will not be compromised. What I have in mind requires you to only to lay still and enjoy yourself.” He gave me a rakish smile and nodded towards the door as he got up. “Do hurry, Serena. I have no doubt my overprotective staff will be along shortly to check on you.”

“They are your staff Mycroft, you could tell them to leave me alone.” I giggled, imagining Mrs Greeves or Timothy finding Mycroft in flagrante delicto.

“Never,” he called back to me, halfway up the stairs already.


	14. Id

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Philosophical contemplations, smut and angst. A view into my twisted mind. (insert maniacal laugh here) Sorry!

Making a Holmes turn off their brain is not an easy task, but I think I may just have found the off switch. I had him reduced to pure id, not bad for a non-genius like me. Mycroft had taken me upstairs to pull me apart at the seams, but I had been the one pulling his strings. 

Id: a noun, the most basic part of the personality encompassing our needs, wants and desires. Id: the biological component motivating our behaviour, based on instinct; demanding and insistent, not influenced by higher thought. In short, the id wants what it wants, when it wants it. All human beings vacillate between rational thought and pure instinct, but we are usually able to compromise until our behaviour fits within the constraints of acceptance, as dictated by society.

Food, water and oxygen: basic human needs required for life. Sex: also one of the basic human needs. Sex is vital for the continuation of the human race but not for life itself. Despite that truth, it is one of the strongest motivating factors in our existence. And, it is all wrapped up with the need for companionship, comfort, acceptance and love.

Love! We all want to love and be loved. Love lifts us up to the pinnacle of our existence and brings us to our knees . It makes us weak and yet strong at the same time. Alone, man is weak; together, we are strong. Separate a bonded pair and they will find the strength to fight to be reunited. Side effects of love: weakness, strength, happiness, and hope. And the thread bringing all these emotions together and binding them into one flesh? Intimacy.

Intimacy: also a noun, meaning a close and affectionate, or most usually, loving relationship with another person; often meaning the physical act itself; sex. 

This was the second man I had fallen in love with and I loved him no more or no less than the first. I did love him differently because he was a different man. Neville had been flirtatious and didn’t hesitate to show his affection for me in public. He often swatted me on the bum as we walked by each other in the hospital or pulled me into his lap as we sat at a concert in the park.

Mycroft was more reserved. He was always the gentleman, ensuring my comfort and safety, but more restrained about public displays of affection. The gentle grasp of his hand around mine when walking meant something different with him than it did with Neville. The meaning of each and every touch from Mycroft was intensified. He was not an overly affectionate man, but when he did touch me, he put all of his love behind the physical act. That was why I cherished the look on his face and the way he writhed under my ministrations. He had taken me upstairs, intending to unravel me and instead I had the honour and privilege of unravelling him.

“Ooh!” he breathed, as the suction gave a gentle pull on his foreskin before releasing as I slid my lips off of him. I smiled, seeing him so undone. Looking at him like this, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of him being called unaffectionate or cold. His fingers slowly released my hair and the slight pressure encouraging my presence between his legs. In a minute, when his rational thought came back online, he would assess as to whether he had hurt me with his enthusiasm for the act and apologise; no matter what my response was to be. There was no way in hell I was going to tell him that even the gentle tugging on my hair and the slight pressure urging me down, all at the same time, had come with consequences. If a worsening of my headache was the price to pay to see him so sated, so be it. I would pay it a thousand times over.

The look he gave me when I kissed him was one of puzzlement. I am not sure if he could decide if he liked the taste of himself in my mouth or not. I would like to know what his thoughts were, but that remains a question for the next time. His phone rang and I picked it up from the bedside table where it had been placed hurriedly when pockets were emptied and clothes had been shed. “It’s John.”

He lowered the phone and the flush of his cheeks from earlier was gone, replaced with ghostly pallor I could only associate with shock. I had been able to hear little of his conversation with John but gathered that something bad had happened to Sherlock. “His heart stopped in the ambulance. He has been shot and his heart stopped,” he whispered.

“Sherlock? He’s flatlined? Oh, my god! Get up, Mycroft! Get dressed, we have to go now.” I tossed a pair of rarely worn jeans and a jumper at Mycroft as I donned my knickers and jeans in one pull. Once we were both dressed, I grabbed Mycroft’s arm and dragged him to the steps, shouting for Timothy as loud as I could.

In the car Mycroft was quiet, turning his phone over and over in his hands. I gently took it from his grasp and he looked up at me. The fear and regret I saw there broke my heart. “I have to call Mummy and Daddy.”

“No! Not yet,” I pleaded. “You can’t. Not until you know something. They are so far away, don’t make them worry until you know something concrete.”

“What other way can this end? His heart has stopped. Even when he overdosed, his heart never stopped. ” He looked at me, sure he was going to have to tell his parents his brother was dead.

“Mycroft, listen to me. Sherlock is young and healthy. If John, a trauma surgeon, was with him when he was shot, then this is the best of a bad situation. You need to wait to call them, there is still hope.” He didn’t answer me, not with words anyway. His hand clasped mine and his finger traced my knuckles, seeking comfort and companionship in a time of distress. The id wants what it wants…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sorry in the least! (more maniacal laughing)


	15. He worries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit of angsty fluff.

The room was quiet except for the hiss and sigh of the ventilator, a cadence I was familiar with. Sherlock looked like almost every gunshot victim I had ever seen. It was hard to tell where his pale skin ended and the stark white of the sheets began. The only spot of colour was the crimson in the tubing, slowly flowing into him, replenishing that vital fluid. The bag was labelled A+. I am A+, and it reminded me I needed to donate once all this was over.

Tears coursed down my cheeks. I had given up on trying to hold them back now that Mycroft had gone to walk John out. I wiped at them with one hand while holding onto Sherlock’s hand with the other. He didn’t return the grasp nor did he pull away. I knew this was normal, his lack of interaction with his world around him. They were keeping him sedated so he wouldn’t fight the ventilator. Still, it was disconcerting seeing him so quiet. I don’t think I had ever seen him this still in all the time I had known him. Even when I had seen him sleep, he had mumbled and fidgeted his way through nightmares. That great mind never rested, not even in slumber.

“You have made a right mess of it, Sherlock.” I gently pushed a dark curl off his brow. “It’s not even been a year since last I stood at your bedside. You were able to talk to me then,” I looked around making sure we were still alone. “He worries about you, you know? A lot more than he lets on. He can’t help you this time. He’s trying to figure out what happened, but he doesn’t have enough information. Oh, Sherlock, who did this to you?”

Tomorrow morning, after his body had recovered a bit from the cardiac arrest and the surgery, and when the blood transfusions were completed, they were going to try to wean him off the ventilator and see if he could breathe on his own. I didn’t think that would be a problem. He had no preexisting health problems that would complicate the process. I smiled to myself and said a silent prayer for the staff, because once he was awake, it was going to be hell keeping him in the bed. And God help them all if he started making deductions on everyone that walked into his room.

There was a soft sound of footsteps and the curtain being moved aside. I knew Mycroft’s gait and there was just a hint of cigarette smoke that hovered around him as he stepped up behind me. He slid his arms around my waist and kissed the top of my head. “You need to go home and rest. You have a headache.”

I wiped at the tears again. “My, I’ve had a headache for almost all of the past week. Nothing has changed.”

“Yes, but if you go home, you can rest.”

“You need rest just as much as I do, maybe more,” I looked up over my shoulder at him.

He sighed, “Serena.”

“Mycroft,” I challenged, not willing to flinch at the glare he was giving me. “I’ll go home when you do.”

“I want to be here. He might need me.” The hitch in his voice was a clear sign of the sentiment he so liked to disparage.

“He’s sedated,” I said, matter-of-factly. “He doesn’t need either one of us. Come home with me. Tomorrow is when he is going to need us. Or rather, the staff will.”

Mycroft released his embrace on me and stepped up to nudge back the same curl that had fallen over Sherlock’s brow earlier. “Have you spoken to them?” He looked back and raised a brow at me. “Let them know what to expect when he wakes?”

I nodded, giggling quietly, “I don’t think they quite believed me. One of them is a fan. They’ll figure it out very quickly the first time he makes deductions about one of them. Last year one of my assistants got so mad he walked out when Sherlock told him he was going to get fired if he didn’t get his gambling addiction under control.”

“Did he have you wanting to run from the room when he deduced your deepest, darkest secrets?” he asked, with just a hint of a smile on his lips.

“No.” I didn’t, because he didn’t. Oh! I hadn’t thought of that before.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at me. “You didn’t want to run from the room?”

“No, I didn’t. Because, if he did deduce me, he didn’t tell me.”

“Oh,” Mycroft gasped, looking surprised.

I took a step towards him, “What? What do you mean by ‘Oh’?”

“Serena, my dear, I think it means he liked you from the start. I assume he clearly deduced how important you were becoming to me. You are a rare gem and as I keep telling you; you shouldn’t worry about my parents liking you. If you passed Sherlock’s approval that is all there is to be said.”

“I hope so. Come on, let’s go home so we can get some sleep before they get here. I may need to press a uniform in case Sherlock makes all his nurses quit tomorrow.” I moved to the doorway in case he wanted to be alone with his brother before leaving. I couldn’t hear what he said, but I did see him take Sherlock’s hand and give it a squeeze. As much as I loved the Holmes boys, I have to say I don’t think either one really understood the other. They did care, that I knew, even if they showed their affection in non-traditional ways. 

Mycroft released Sherlock’s hand and turned to me. “Home?”

“Yes, home.”

We both were quiet in the car. Mycroft was in that great mind of his going over whatever he knew about Sherlock’s actions over the last week and I was so very tired. The drums in my head were pounding their incessant beat, and my stomach rolled in response. I closed my eyes, trying to will myself to go to sleep despite the pain. 

I must have dozed off because Mycroft nudged me awake halfway between the hospital and home. “Serena?” he called softly.

“Hmm?” I blinked, trying to see him in the darkness.

He nodded to where my hand lay in his lap, unconsciously tracing the seam of his jeans. “I assume that was not the intended result?” he whispered in my ear, so Timothy couldn’t hear. 

I withdrew my hand and noticed the hardness at the apex of his thighs as I brushed against it. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I was doing anything. I mean, you look fabulous in a pair of jeans. You should wear them more often, but I didn’t…”

He smiled at me affectionately. “It’s alright, go back to sleep.”

“But… I can… when we get home…” I stammered, stifling a yawn.

“Go to sleep, Serena.” He wrapped his arm around me and I slipped back into slumber. I didn’t hear him say to me later, as the car slid to a halt in front of the house, “You both need your rest, more than ever.”

“Congratulations, sir,” Tim said quietly, meeting Mycroft’s eyes in the mirror.

“Thank you, Timothy. You will help me watch over them, won’t you?”


	16. Goldfish

The next day I felt better than I had since getting concussed. The headaches had abated and I finally felt something akin to normal. I was still tired, but I suspected there was another cause for that. One that needed confirmation before I mentioned it to Mycroft.

Our day started early, going to the hospital to see Sherlock and then to the airport to pick up their parents. Mycroft's mum and dad were absolutely delightful. They both pulled me into great hugs when we met them and were quite excited despite the grim reason they had cut short their holiday. I laughed when Mycroft huffed a sigh after his mum chided him for keeping our relationship secret for so long.

"Mummy, you know in my position it is not wise to advertise my attachments. One's enemies are always looking for something to use as leverage. There has already been one attempt to harm her before I was able to petition for her protection. I’ve had Timothy running himself ragged keeping up with Serena and driving for me." 

"But Mikey, we are your parents," his mother reminded him, "not the press."

"Who would we tell?" His father chimed in, good-naturedly.

"The neighbours, the grocer, a random stranger," Mycroft said under his breath as he hid behind a file in the guise of studying the information within.

"We were thinking about a very small, private wedding," I interjected, intentionally changing the subject. "Just the both of you, Sherlock, John and Mary, Anthea of course and two or three of my friends in attendance. We thought about having it the first week in January, around Sherlock's birthday. That is the earliest Mycroft can take some time off."

"Oh, how exciting," Violet squeezed one of my hands and patted Mycroft on the knee, though he ignored her, pretending to be engrossed in the file I knew he had already memorised on the way to the airport. 

Carlton (I had been encouraged to call Mycroft's parents by their given names when we were first introduced) took my other hand and kissed it, “Welcome to the family, young lady. We are ever so pleased.” They were sweet and I loved them already.

When we got to the hospital, I stood back and let Violet and Carlton go right to Sherlock’s side. He hadn't progressed as well as the doctors had hoped. He had spiked a temp overnight and was started on antibiotics. The surgeon decided to delay taking him off the ventilator until tomorrow. Mycroft and I sat with his parents at Sherlock's bedside for an hour before he announced he couldn't stay any longer. Anthea had called to say there was a meeting he needed to attend. I left when he did, intending to see John at the surgery before he left to come visit Sherlock again this afternoon. 

"So, you've had no more episodes of vertigo? What about the headaches? Are they getting better?" John asked, taking the blood pressure cuff off my arm before picking up the torch and checking my pupils.

"No vertigo," I confirmed. "Not for almost three days and today is the first day I didn't wake up with a headache."

"Great, Serena. That's great. I think I feel comfortable letting you go back to work. I don’t want you driving for a couple of days, though, just in case the vertigo returns. You can have Mycroft and one of his bloody black cars take you everywhere. Does that sound acceptable?” John sat in the chair across from me like he just wanted to chat with a friend, which I guess by this point he was.

"It does. My bank account is going to be happier." I laughed.

He laughed in return. "You have to promise you will call me if you start having symptoms again."

"I will. Before I go, John, I wondered if you would do me a favour. There is one more thing I wanted to talk to you about." I bit my lip, not really sure why I was embarrassed. He was a doctor and I was a nurse, we both were familiar with the workings of the human body and usually comfortable discussing such. 

"Yes?" He sat forward, suddenly serious.

"I've been feeling unusually tired lately and I think it's not related to the head injury. That and… I'm late," I took a deep breath, feeling my face flush. "I'm always really regular. It's just a couple of days, but I... "

"Oh my god! You want a pregnancy test.” John grinned, “Does Mycroft know?"

I shrugged, "He's Mycroft. Who bloody knows? I haven't told him. I’ve only started to suspect in the last two days. And it’s not like we haven’t taken precautions. We've just had unprotected sex once."

"Twice," Mycroft hummed, later that evening in bed. "Once at your flat and once in my office at the Diogenes club."

I felt my cheeks flush in embarrassment again. I had tried to forget that we had both let our baser urges get the best of us that one evening and I let him shag me on the couch, in a public building. Mycroft, for a man in his forties, was quite virile. I think it was related to the stress of his job. No one could have that much power and not need release in one sort or another. I was very lucky he didn’t choose to overindulge in alcohol consumption or chain smoke. “Well, it obviously was enough. But, how do you feel about it, My?”

“If you are asking if I am surprised, the answer is apparent. Two assumed fertile adults, engaging in coitus without the use of contraception by either participant can only lead to the logical assumption that conception will occur, depending on the timing within the woman’s cycle. And, as I believe you were in the ovulatory phase of your cycle the day we were intimate at the club, I am not surprised to learn that you have conceived.” He looked at me as if I was being rather obtuse for needing to ask.

I shook my head in amazement. I continually let myself underestimate his insight. He noticed everything. Everything from the rhythm of my menstrual cycle to what I was thinking of wearing for the day, he noticed it all. “Why do you bother with me, Mycroft? You are miles ahead of me, all the time! Don’t you find me boring?”

“Serena, I live in a world of goldfish. I find most people slow and boring. You, however, are not slow, nor are you boring. You are moderately intelligent, and with some tutoring from me as far as memory and observation go, you could almost be as perceptive as Sherlock. You show that potential every time you diagnose your patients.”

I laughed, “Mycroft, nurses don’t diagnose. We notice symptoms and trends, then report them to the doctor for them to make the diagnosis, not the other way around.”

Mycroft looked down at me with that disdainful look that told me he thought I was being just a bit slow. “Serena, I have seen you on several different occasions diagnose. Yes, diagnose. It has only been in the last week and a half that you deduced me having my arm injured.”

“I could tell by how you moved it that you had been injured. Simple.” 

He rolled his eyes at me. “Serena, you did nothing so simple as seeing the result of the injury. You knew the specific action that resulted in my symptoms, Sherlock wrenching my arm behind my back. Not so simple after all.”

“Alright. So, what? I am smarter than the average goldfish?” As soon as I said the word, I had a flash of memory, back to a car and Sherlock saying that word. “Is that what I am your personal goldfish?”

“Serena, you are the intelligent individual, capable of so much more with some effort. That I have developed a deep emotional attachment, despite my loathing of sentiment, and the fact that we have combined our DNA resulting in you carrying my child inside your body makes me delightfully happy. So there, that is the answer you are looking for. No, I am not surprised and yes, I am very happy we are to be parents.”


	17. Sage advice

The next week was one of a flurry of activity, highlighted by Sherlock’s escape from and readmission to hospital. Mycroft was extremely mad at him but refrained from saying anything to me. I only knew because I had heard him shouting at Sherlock over the phone one evening when I was getting out of the shower. The question of who shot him was still a mystery to everyone but Sherlock and the shooter, although I think Mycroft knew and that was part of why he was so mad.

I had intentionally not returned to work yet, fearing that I may be called upon to care for Sherlock. It was a testament to how sick he really was, when he made no further escape attempts, nor did he alienate the nursing staff caring for him. I asked Mycroft if it was John’s influence that had Sherlock so placid or if he had been able to convince his brother to cooperate. Mycroft only mumbled something about John having his own problems to sort out and Sherlock being too sick, for once, to cause too much trouble.

Sure that my skills were not needed at home, I called my nurse manager and informed him I had medical clearance to return to duty. He was delighted and asked if I could work the next day. I, of course, agreed. I was getting quite bored sitting home. I couldn’t wait to dive back into the frantic pace of the A&E department and get my blood pumping again.

“Serena, where are you going?” Mycroft reached out sleepily for me as I sat on the edge of the bed that next morning and tied my shoes.

“To work.” Mycroft had gotten in late last night after a busy day and I didn’t get to talk to him before I went to sleep, so he had no idea I planned to go to work that morning.

He sat up abruptly, rubbing at his eyes. “Does Dr Watson know?”

“That I am going back to work? Yes, he signed my release paperwork last week. I was staying off until I was sure Sherlock wouldn’t need me. Now I can go back. ” 

“Come back to bed, I will speak to John later,” he rolled over and patted the bed beside him.

“Not funny, My. I’ve got to go in a few minutes, Tim is going to drive me there and pick me up this afternoon.” I started towards the door but his next words stopped me. “What?” I stepped back into the room.

“I said, ‘Is it wise, in your condition?’,” he sat up and reached for his dressing gown.

I took a deep breath, feeling the anger rise within me. “What exactly is ‘my condition’, Mycroft?”

“You are pregnant,” he paused, hoping for me to see reason, I assume.

“Yes?” I clenched my fists at my side waiting for him to explain further. I knew he was old school, but this was ridiculous and I didn’t have time for it.

“You are carrying my child,” he enunciated the word ‘my’ as if I didn’t know exactly who had impregnated me.

“Yes, I am and it has half my DNA, too. Though, I fail to see what that has to do with me working today.” I grabbed my bag and strode towards the door. “Look, Mycroft, you are going to have to deal with it until this evening. I have to go.”

I was slightly surprised he didn’t try to follow me and I climbed into the front seat of the car beside Tim.

“I thought you might want to sit in the back,” he chuckled.

“God, no. It’s going to be bad enough getting out of a Jaguar in front of the hospital, never mind a chauffeur driven one. This way it looks like you are a friend giving me a ride. Besides, I am not Mycroft, bloody male chauvinist, Holmes. I don’t feel the need to put myself up on a pedestal. ” I grumbled, possibly more vehemently than I intended.

Tim glanced over at me briefly after merging with the early morning traffic. “You two have a domestic?”

“However did you guess?” I stared straight ahead, fuming.

He laughed, grinning over at me. “Let me guess, he’s being an arse about you going back to work? I knew it had to happen eventually.”

There was nothing I found amusing about the situation. “And, why didn’t you say something to me? I thought you were my friend.” I swatted at him with my scarf.

Tim ducked and laughed even harder, still keeping his eye on the traffic around him. “I think the world of you, Serena, but I don’t get involved in anyone else’s love affair. The only exception would be if I thought one partner was abusing the other. Mycroft might smother you with his overprotectiveness, but he would never raise a finger to harm you.”

“No, he wouldn’t. But that didn’t stop him from being an arrogant prick. He suggested that I not return to work just because I am pregnant.”

“Congratulations, by the way,” Tim nodded at me. He didn’t say anything else until we pulled up to the employee drop off area and then he turned to me, putting his arm around the back of my seat. “Serena, I realise Mycroft can be a pompous arse at times and I certainly don’t agree with his idea of you being his little, obedient housewife. It’s not who you are. But, I encourage you to listen to me for a moment. Look at things from his point of view.” He raised a hand to stop me when I started to rebut him. “I said, look at things from his side; I didn’t say I agree with his actions, so just wait a minute. Mycroft Holmes is probably the smartest man either of us will meet in our entire lives. He may be the smartest man alive at this moment in time. He is at the top of the government and sees all the horrible things that humans do or plan to do. On top of knowing what he knows, he is almost certainly omniscient. Give him one or two puzzle pieces and he can tell you what the picture is, how big it will be and how long it will take you to assemble it. He’s sometimes too smart for his own good. He plans constantly.”

I rolled my eyes at Tim, “I know, he never stops.”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “But, do you know that a lot of his planning centres around you and how he can keep you safe from his enemies once they discover how hurting you would devastate him?” 

“But, Tim, I’m not going to roll over, let him wrap me in cotton wool and lock me away in some tower like a fragile china doll.”

Tim smiled,”I never suggested you do such a thing. I wouldn’t want it, neither should you. All I’m asking you to do is see why he is so adamant about security. He has a lot of enemies across the world. And, if you don't leave the house he knows they can't get to you. You probably don't realise that the house is built like a fortress. He is just trying to keep you and his child safe, although he forgets to include you in the planning. Talk to him this evening, appeal to his logical side. He wants to make you happy, let him know you won’t be happy locked away from doing what you love to do and are good at. Ask him if he will let you help him plan your own security detail. That will appeal to him. You won’t be rejecting his protection, but accepting it. He will keep you safe, and you get to keep your independence. Easy.”

“I hope so,” I sighed.

Tim kissed me on the cheek and waved a hand towards the building, “You better hurry or you are going to be late. Call me when you’re ready to leave and I will come get you. And Serena, Sherlock isn’t the only one that is socially awkward at times. Mycroft is an excellent diplomat, but I don’t think he has ever been in love before. Cut him some slack, he’s terrified of losing you.”


	18. Introducing Mrs. Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is just a little bit longer than the others have been. It's mostly for fun, but it does set the stage for the next chapter. Hope you enjoy it.

Lord and Lady Ellerby apparently threw a grand Christmas party every year and it was attended by only the highest ranking government officials and minor royalty. Mycroft didn’t particularly want to attend, but he said it would be good to make appearances and introduce me to some of his peers. I had nothing else planned, so I thought it might be fun.

This time, I asked Mycroft if he could help me procure a dress for the occasion. I was not sure where to go nor what styles were available to me in my current state of roundness. He seemed pleased that I asked and assured me he had a tailor in mind for what he thought I would like. I had just intended for him to suggest a shop, but instead, he informed me I was a Holmes now and an off the rack gown was not appropriate in this situation anyway. He brought in a giant box tied with a big red ribbon the evening before we were to attend. I was surprised that the dress fit me so well, considering my ever-morphing silhouette. I was only 20 weeks along, but it was obvious from the gentle swell of my abdomen that I was pregnant. The dress was a shimmering emerald green made of the lushest material I had ever felt. The high waist, accented with a ribbon just under my breasts, let the material flow over my belly in a feminine sweep of cloth. If I thought Mycroft was a man to need to boast of his virility, I would have thought he had picked this style to announce to the world the impending arrival of his child. I did, in fact, mention such a notion to him. He laughed and told me he picked the dress simply because, yes, it accentuated the curve of his child growing deep inside of me, but he could not care less if others saw it or not, however, he wanted to see it. The world missed a great actor in him because he had so many fooled into thinking he was cold, heartless and more than a little antisocial. He cared passionately, but only for a select few individuals, one of which I had the fortune to be.

As he had done before, at the only other formal occasion I had attended with him, he kept one hand on my elbow or my waist at all times, frequently asking of my comfort. He introduced me to all sorts of persons, some were indeed royal and some, his own peers. It was a little overwhelming and I finally suggested he make his rounds while I found a quiet spot away from the main crowd to relax and recharge my batteries. 

The library in which I wandered was was beautiful and I felt much more comfortable here than in the main hall with so many strangers. The room was open to all and a few drifted in and out, mostly to check their phones or like me to get away for a few minutes of quiet. I perused the shelves and selected a book, taking it to one of the sofas to begin reading. I knew when Mycroft had conversed with those he felt he need touch base, he would know where to find me.

I was just starting to immerse myself in the fictional world when two ladies swept into the room and glared at all the others there. I guess they got their point across because within a minute it was only me left from before they entered. I saw the pointed look they gave me, but being that I was content where I was, I ignored them and kept reading. They must have given up on me leaving, for they huddled on the opposite side of the room. The room wasn't all that big and I was able to hear every word they said with crystal clarity, much to my chagrin; I wanted to be alone.

“So, have you heard the latest, Amelia?” the taller of the women asked. 

“No, do tell Lydia. It’s something juicy, I hope?” Amelia giggled.

“Oh, definitely. Mycroft Holmes got married last weekend.”

My head jerked up as Amelia gasped, “You’re joking?”

Lydia smiled, relishing the look of surprise on her friend’s face. “Seriously. Winston told me. He heard it from Lord Whitmore. Apparently Lord Whitmore’s PA called Mycroft’s PA extending an invitation for him to join their annual shooting party at Whitmore’s estate in Scotland, but she declined in his stead, saying he was unavailable.”

“His PA said he was getting married?” Amelia interrupted.

“Goodness no! That woman is even more tight-lipped than Holmes is if that is even possible. No, Lord Whitmore’s PA then talked to Patel, in accounting over at Vauxhall, and Patel heard Mycroft himself tell Lady Smallwood that he was getting married in a private ceremony on Saturday.”

“Oh my God! Tell me it wasn’t to a man?” 

Lydia shook her head, “No! It was to a woman!”

“Oh, I can’t believe it. And all these years I thought he was gay,” Amelia snickered. 

“We all did. Just wait, though. You will never guess who he married,” Lydia looked around and I ducked my head back down, feigning interest in the pages in my hand.

“Who? Do I know her?” Amelia clutched at her friend’s hand, the excitement in her voice evident. “You have to tell me.”

“Well, I don’t know her personally, but I asked around and it appears he married someone… common,” Lydia made a face as if smelling a foul odour.

Her friend made a similar face, “No, you’re not serious. Working class? You mean like a shop girl or something?”

Lydia smiled, “Yes, and the best part is that the scheming girl is pregnant. Trapped herself a Holmes boy and his money. I guess he isn’t as smart as everyone says.”

Amelia laughed, “I wonder if it is even his baby. You know how people like that are.”

“True. I even heard she had been married before. I can’t wait to…” Lydia stopped, mouth hanging open in shock and her face blanching white.

I was curious to find out what she wanted to do, but I realised the reason she had stopped was because my husband had come looking for me. I was tempted to be hurt at their vile gossip, but instead, I was just disappointed in my fellow man. I knew from the start that Mycroft and I were from different classes of society. Most of my friends had readily accepted my choice of husband and all the trimmings that came with his position. Others, like these two women, gossiped and made similar accusations about my motivations. People were the same in every class, there were kind individuals and there were those that went out of their way to be unkind. 

Mycroft gave them a scathing look that would have anyone else scurrying for cover, then introduced me to them in the coldest of tones, contrary to his polite words “Lady Atmore, Lady Hillenbrand, may I introduce my lovely wife, Serena Sophia Craig-Holmes.”

Something clicked in my mind, the name, I had heard of the name Hillenbrand… and recently. I rose and joined Mycroft, taking his outstretched hand. He pulled me in and kissed my hand. “Ready to go, my dear? I find the company here unbearable.” He looked down his nose at the two women, brow furrowed and a frown upon his lips. That was the arrogant man I knew he could be when he wanted.

It hit me all of a sudden, and I knew where I had heard the name. Mycroft took a deep breath and I knew he was getting ready to berate the ladies for their unkind behaviour or even better, deduce the hell out of them, flaying them down to the small, insignificant vermin they were, but I grabbed his wrist and shook my head ever so slightly. He raised a brow in question and I smiled in return. Mycroft rolled his eyes as if to say, “Go ahead.” 

“Lady Hillenbrand? You know, I met a Hillenbrand recently. Let me think,” I hummed in exaggerated thought. “Oh, yes. Now I remember. I’m a nurse, and I seem to remember having a patient named Hillenbrand. He had the most interesting diagnosis I have seen in the many years I have worked in the A&E.” 

The woman turned the darkest shade of puce before grabbing her friend's hand and dragging her from the room. Mycroft looked perplexed as I broke out in a fit of giggles.

“Serena, are you going to explain?” Mycroft looked between me and the departing women in question.

I bit my lip in the attempt to suppress my laughter. “I’ll tell you in the car.” 

Mycroft whipped out his phone and called for Tim. With that done, we met our hosts and made our excuses for leaving early. My need for rest was mentioned instead of our earlier encounter with the two hags in the library. Lady Ellerby was most sympathetic and asked to be notified when our child was born so she may come and take portraits of us all. It seemed she was quite an accomplished photographer and Mycroft assured her she would be on his list of friends to call when our blessed event happened.

Once in the car and on the way home, Mycroft turned towards me and pinned me with a stare. “Serena? What was that all about?”

I began giggling again. It was a memory I would never forget. Lady Hillenbrand had been horrified. I knew I should not have mentioned what I knew, there were rules about privacy and such, but her reaction had been worth it. And, Mycroft was above the law in my mind and I hoped myself an extension of that as well. Besides, I believed she was too embarrassed to pursue my slight breach of confidentiality.

“Serena,” he frowned even harder. 

“Alright, you have to deny I ever told you this, but I took care of her son. He came in the A&E about a month or two ago. He and his underage male lover had been… experimenting,” I stifled more giggles. “Things didn’t go so well and he came to us… with a cucumber stuck in…a very intimate place.” I lost it at that moment and couldn’t contain my mirth. I wiped tears from my eyes and saw Mycroft snickering, along with Timothy from the front seat. It made up for the earlier events.

Just before we arrived home, Mycroft stroked my belly. “Are you sure you can’t come with me to Mummy’s Christmas Day?”

“Sorry, but I am. I promised Beatrice last Christmas that I would work for her this Christmas. I can’t break my promise. Anyway, I have missed so much work this year, I am afraid to miss anymore. I am sorry.”

Mycroft groaned, “However am I going to endure the misery without you there?”

I laughed, “Maybe Sherlock will keep you entertained until I get off work.”


	19. Protecting those we care about

"Wow, what a shift. Are you and baby feeling alright, Serena?" Clara asked as we reached our lockers. She sat heavily on the bench and began pulling the usual paraphernalia out of her pockets. Every nurse had a pocket full of the tools of our trade: scissors, hemostats, rolls of tape, alcohol wipes and, of course, biros. Nurses seem to have an affinity for writing implements. Even now, in the days of computer documentation, we still wouldn’t be without one. Who knew when you might be out of reach of the keyboard or have blood covered gloves and need to write your patient’s vital signs on your forearm or trouser leg. 

I laughed and slid a hand over my baby bump. "Little M and I are fine, but my feet are killing me. I think if I had to walk down that hall one more time I would scream. What happened to Christmas being slower than regular days?" I hung my stethoscope in my locker, then pulled out my purse and coat. 

"I think it might have been if it weren't for the stomach flu going round. Almost all my patients, but a few, had it,” Clara sighed and stretched.

"Oh, I didn't know it was going round. I didn't get any of those today." I frowned, highly suspicious of the day's assignments.

Clara laughed, "Well, I think that was because we all agreed you don't need to risk getting infected, you being pregnant and all."

"But Clara, that's hardly fair."

My friend smiled, laying a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry about it. We look out after each other. Remember when Tom was going through chemotherapy and he couldn’t stand the smell of coffee without it making him nauseated? We all switched over to tea on the evenings he worked.”

“I remember. Still, this is different. No one wants the flu. Switching from coffee to tea is no big deal,” I tried to make her see reason.

“Sorry, honey. You are just going to have to deal with it. That’s what you get for being pregnant during flu season.”

“I didn’t intend to get pregnant. It just sort of happened,” I sighed, smiling.

“I think you must have skived off too many anatomy classes, Serena. Getting pregnant doesn’t just happen. It takes a little effort, how much depends on your partner, though,” she raised an eyebrow suggestively.

“Oh, Clara! I had top marks in anatomy class. I had a great tutor, we studied day and night,” I giggled, feeling my cheeks flush. 

Clara grinned, “Neville?”

I nodded, fondly remembering late night study sessions where we studied more of each other than any textbook. Neville had an ingenious way to remember the muscles and bones of the body that required a biro and nothing else, not even our clothes. My boss, at the coffee shop where I worked part time during uni, once asked me why I always had ink marks on my hands and arms. 

“Did you two ever want kids?” She interrupted my memory.

“We did. We tried right after he got out of training. Nothing ever came of it, so we decided to put it off until we got a little older and travelled a bit, and then he… died.” I shrugged, “I just figured it wasn’t meant to be for us.”

“What about that posh boyfriend, oh sorry, husband of yours? Is he happy too?” Clara looked at me uncertainly. I knew she had heard the rumours. Why did people insist on thinking I had gotten pregnant just to trap a rich husband? I didn’t think she, of all people, really believed the rumours, she had known me too long. Still, I could see why it might make people wonder. Not everyone knew about my part time job for the government. They didn’t know it was really orchestrated by Mycroft, or that he had secretly been infatuated with me since before we first met four years ago.

“He is,” I replied, thinking of him stroking my stomach or staring intently at it. I didn’t know if he was trying to figure out what sex it was (we had decided not to find out) or if he was just puzzled at what was going on inside me at that very moment. “He is very happy. In fact, he told me last night he would be happy having as many children as I wanted to have with him. Of course, that was after he begged me to come work for him full time, so he could make sure I was home with him on Christmas.”

Clara looked relieved. “Sounds like he is quite taken with you. Do you two have plans for the rest of Christmas and Boxing Day?”

“We do,” I settled my scarf artfully around my neck and slid my arms into my coat. “He is coming to get me and then is going to drive us back to his parent’s house, where we are going to stay with them and his brother for a few days. He’s been there all day. He’s sent me a text three times today asking if I could come home early. He says time almost comes to a standstill when I’m not with him.”

“He sounds dramatic,” Clara raised a brow in amusement, holding the locker room door open for me.

“He and his brother both are. I think it comes along with being super smart.”

“Is he really? A genius, I mean?” She pulled on her coat and we started down the hall towards the exit.

“Yes, actually both of them are. Although, Mycroft says he is the smart one.”

“Wow. Is his brother married, too?” Clara stopped and turned towards me.

I laughed, “Just to his work. And besides, I don’t think Sherlock is interested in…”

“Women?” Clara offered, sounding disappointed.

I shrugged. I loved Sherlock, he was my friend, but he was still a mystery to me. I wasn’t sure whether he was straight, gay, bi or asexual. Sherlock was just… Sherlock. “People. He’s not interested in people in general unless they can provide him with a mystery to solve. He tends to hang out in the morgue when he’s not out running after criminals.”

“Serena, only you would get involved with a shadowy government type that has a recently risen from the dead, creepy, detective brother. Go home and shag that posh git. And let me know if your brother-in-law decides to procreate. I would shag him in a heartbeat He's gorgeous.”

“I will, Clara. For now, go home to your boyfriend. Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas, Serena!”

Clara turned towards the car park and I stepped outside into the cold to look for Mycroft’s car. I was surprised to see one of the black sedans instead of the Jaguar that Mycroft had taken to his Mum’s. I climbed into the front seeing that the back was empty. “Tim, don’t tell me Mycroft dragged you out on Christmas Day, just to come get me. What happened? Did Sherlock spike the punch and now he can’t drive?”

Tim pulled away from the hospital and started in the direction that was decidedly not the way to Mycroft’s Mum and Dad’s. “You are more right than you know,” Tim said cryptically. “Something has happened and he is afraid his enemies will take advantage of the confusion to try and harm you. He wants you to come home where Jeremy and I can keep watch. He probably won't be home until tomorrow morning.”

“Tim, what happened? Is Mycroft alright?” I smoothed a hand over Little M, safe in my belly. I was afraid for his or her father.

“He’s alright, Serena. He’s just very worried.” Tim reached over and patted me on the knee.

My heart skipped a beat. If Mycroft was worried, but I was safe, then it had to be… “Tim, where is Sherlock? Is he alright?”

Tim glanced quickly over at me then stared straight ahead at the road before him. “Yes, Serena. Sherlock is not hurt, he’s just got himself in a little bit of trouble. Mycroft said he would explain when he gets home. You don’t need to worry about anything right now.”

“Tim, I’m not one of Mycroft’s obedient little minions, that does everything he says without question, neither are you. TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED.” I growled at him.

Tim smiled and patted me on the knee again. “I told him you wouldn’t be satisfied to wait. He said I could tell you if you insisted.”

“Well? I insist.” My knee bounced in a syncopated rhythm, betraying the agitation swirling and churning in my gut.

Tim let out a breath slowly, “It’s Sherlock, he shot a man. Murdered him in cold blood, right in front of Dr Watson and twenty or thirty government agents. He said he was protecting Mary. He won’t say anything more than that. He’s being held on charges of murder and possibly treason. Mycroft is not sure if he can help him or not.”

Tears immediately sprung to my eyes, if Mycroft wasn’t sure that he could help, then Sherlock was already doomed. “Oh God, Sherlock. What did you do?” I sighed, collapsing back into the seat.


	20. Solitary confinement and Exile

"Ma'am, I don't think you should go in there alone. Please, let me go with you or, at least, let me restrain him. He could hurt you in your delicate condition."

I rounded on the man and pinned him with an icy stare. "Excuse me, Corporal Donnelly, what exactly is delicate about my condition?"

"Well, you're pregnant," he announced, "and he's a bloody psychopath."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, but what is 'delicate' about being pregnant? I think you have to have pretty big bollocks to survive carrying around what is essentially a parasite for forty weeks, all the while enduring morning sickness, back aches and an altered centre of gravity, not to mention mood swings. Now, if you don't mind, you can tell Mr Sherlock Holmes his sister-in-law, Mrs Mycroft Holmes, is here to see him."

Corporal Donnelly gasped and then muttered something apologetic before opening the door for me. He had the decency to look embarrassed. "You just knock on the door when you are done and I will let you out, Mrs Holmes."

"Thank you. Oh, by the way, Corporal, he's a high-functioning sociopath. Do get your facts straight. I would hate to have to ask my husband to fire one of his men for being a cretinous half-wit who insulted not only his wife but his brother also." I turned my back to him and entered the tiny room. When the door shut behind me, I smiled down at Sherlock where he sat against one wall, tossing a small rubber ball against the one opposite. 

"You're learning quickly," Sherlock grinned up at me, catching the ball and rising to his feet in one graceful motion. "You might just earn yourself a nickname, Mrs Holmes." He gathered me in his arms and placed a kiss on my crown.

I returned the hug, relieved to find him in good spirits, not that I thought that it would last. He was going to get bored very quickly with no stimulation. "Well, if I have to have a nickname, I hope it is a good one."

I felt a laugh rumble in his chest before he released me and motioned to the pallet on the floor. "The accommodations here are less than ideal. They are afraid of me and won't risk giving me anything I might use to make a weapon."

"I'll tell Mycroft. You don't deserve to be treated this way, Sherlock."

"I am afraid I do, Serena. I killed a man, a very prominent man with ties to the media. I am a cold-blooded murderer." His smile faded and it hurt to see it.

"Yes, but you surely had your reasons. I’m going to tell him anyway, the commander wasn't even going to let me in to perform a medical exam. I had to threaten to call My out of a meeting with the Queen before he would acquiesce."

Sherlock's brow wrinkled in confusion. "I don't recall that being on his agenda for the week."

I shrugged, "It's not."

Sherlock looked very pleased and began unbuttoning his sleeve. "You are a true Holmes. Now, take my blood pressure or check whatever you need to do. I want one of your scones and the book you brought me."

I pulled out my stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, then I went to work, performing a basic physical exam. I didn’t think Mycroft’s minions would mistreat Sherlock, but I would not put it past the man to harm himself out of neglect or boredom.

“You are in good physical shape, as usual,” I announced as Sherlock buttoned up his shirt a few minutes later. “Are you bored?”

“Mildly. I have been cataloguing potential names for the baby based on your and Mycroft’s handwriting. It has kept me somewhat occupied.” He crossed his legs at the ankle, his back to the wall and patted the space next to him, indicating I was invited to sit close. 

“Names based on our handwriting?” I laughed, not sure whether he was serious or not. 

“Yes, I believe expectant parents’ choices are influenced by how the potential names look when written by their own hand. I have deduced that your best choices for a girl are Rose and Jane because you write the first letters of those names with a bold swooping tail. Mycroft, on the other hand, would prefer Rose, but not Jane, because his J’s are thin and angular. For a boy, I believe you both would agree on the names Ethan, Scott and Oliver. Of all of those, I think you both would prefer Oliver. You both make the letter O with a flourishing stroke.”

“Oh, Sherlock.” I took my hand and pulled his over to rest on the apex of my stomach. “You really are trying hard not to be bored, aren’t you?”

Sherlock gave me a questioning glance and I nodded, knowing he was curious. His hands gently slid over my rounded belly, pressing ever so lightly here and there. He seemed fascinated with his niece or nephew growing inside me. “Can you feel it move yet?”

“Yes, I can feel light flutters every now and then. I have been for two or three days now. It will be a few weeks before anyone else can feel them,” I explained. “Little M is too small right now to be felt through the abdominal wall.”

He seemed quite interested in learning about his gestating relative and asked several more questions regarding the medical aspects of pregnancy. I was amazed at his understanding of the working of the human body for someone with a chemistry degree instead of biology. When I had satisfied his curiosity, he leant back and held out his hand, palm up. “You brought me presents. Give them to me, I am curious as to what book you brought.”

“I brought you two, actually. Mycroft said you loved to play pirates when you were little, so I brought you Treasure Island. I’m not sure if the other one is your thing or not, but I also brought Frankenstein. We watched the National Theatre’s version on DVD last night. I am amazed at how much that one actor looks like you, you should watch it, just to see. Sorry, I am rambling. Here,” I handed the box over. “I hope they help.”

Sherlock immediately pulled out the scones and opened Treasure Island. I hoped it was enough to keep him occupied for a little while. Seeing he was content, I left shortly thereafter, but not before promising to come visit him as often as I could. 

As often as I could happened to be only twice more and both were under the guise of performing a medical exam. The second was two days after my first visit, and I exchanged the two books I had given him for two new ones. That time I brought him mince pies from Mrs Hudson and fresh bread from Mary. No one else had been allowed to visit him other than Mycroft and me.

The last time I saw him was on the day of his release. I had to say my goodbyes at the compound, in which he was being held. I wanted to go with Mycroft and Sherlock to the airport, but I was denied my wish. Mycroft was reluctant to have me seen in pubic with him now that the family was under scrutiny. He preferred to keep the world as ignorant of my pregnancy as possible, for security reasons. I understood but was sad that I had to stay behind. It was all for the best, though. Mycroft had told me of the plans for Sherlock’s mission and his probable demise. I broke down and cried after they left. My heart was wrenched in two at the thought of losing the only brother I had ever known, for that was what he was to me, Sherlock was my brother.

Tim drove me home and made me tea. In an effort to distract me he turned on the football match. He knew I liked to watch and it worked for a little while. That was until the screen went wonky and the message appeared. 

Around the time that Sherlock had jumped from the roof of St Bart’s I had been battling the depression that followed losing Neville. I had paid little attention to the news and rarely picked up a newspaper. However, it was impossible to have not seen Sherlock’s picture. It was everywhere, mostly on the front page of every rag sold at Tesco’s or any other market. Moriarty’s picture, however, usually didn’t show up until the second or third page. The result being that I didn't initially connect the face of the man peering out of the telly and asking if I missed him, with James Moriarty. 

Five minutes later, my phone rang and I answered, grateful to hear Mycroft’s voice. “Mycroft, that man on the telly, is that truly James Moriarty? Because I remember him, My. He was the man I sat with on my first job for you. The suicide watch. That was Jim. Jim was James Moriarty?”

“Yes, Serena,” Mycroft answered me in that business-like tone that meant he was preoccupied, “that was Moriarty. Please stay inside the house and do everything Timothy tells you to do. He will keep you safe. I will not be home until late tonight or possibly not until morning. Serena, I have to go. They are cancelling Sherlock’s exile and are bringing him back. I have work to do. Keep yourself safe, alright?”

“Alright, I will. The same goes for you, My.” I lay the phone on the table and stroked a shaking hand over my stomach. “Daddy and I are going to keep you safe, little one, I promise.”


	21. A battle of wills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff (smut).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it has been longer than usual since I posted a chapter, but, you know RL and such.

His hands smoothed across the swell of my stomach as I moved over him. A slight change in the angle of my hips brought a gasp to his lips and one of his hands slid upward to cup my breast. Thumb and finger rolled the darkened nipple between them, producing a golden drop of colostrum for his effort. He leant up and greedily lapped at the fluid. 

“Enjoy them now,” I teased. “In several weeks, they won’t be yours anymore.”

Mycroft laughed and sucked my nipple in before releasing it with a pop, sending another ripple of pleasure through me. “I think Oliver Ethan is just going to have to share.”

“Evelyn Rose may not be so amenable,” I said, rolling my hips for emphasis.

His hands moved to grasp my hips, encouraging the motion and I began to ride him in earnest. He began to meet me with upward thrusts of his own and I soon arched my back as the sudden, intense wave of pleasure began deep in my pelvis and radiated outward. His fingers dug into my hips as he snapped his hips up- once, twice, three times- and he groaned as he tumbled over into the abyss with me. 

I bent forward, still impaled on his cock, and rested my forehead on his, well sated and breathing heavily. “That was spectacular!”

“Yes, quite spectacular, indeed. Although, I am not sure if it was due to the sparsity of our recent attempts at lovemaking or the normal pelvic congestion that occurs at this stage in your pregnancy that caused your heightened sexual arousal.”

I smiled. That was my Mycroft, always thinking. As I felt him soften and slip from my body, I moved to lay at his side. “I think we disturbed her nap,” I pointed to my stomach as it morphed and undulated.

Mycroft's fingers gently traced the outline of an elbow or knee, tracking it across my belly. It was lovely to see him so fascinated with his child. I had worried when I first suspected I was pregnant, that he would see the baby as a burden or an inconvenient byproduct of our physical relationship. He had greatly surprised me, having had Anthea arrange his schedule so he could accompany me to each and every prenatal appointment. He asked questions and took an active role in the planning for our child's arrival into the world. Nothing could have made me happier.

“And what are your plans for the day, my dear?” he asked later as I was straightening his tie.

“I am on call for work until this afternoon, so I don’t want to get involved in anything very complicated, such as arranging the nursery. I thought I might pop in and see how your brother’s rehabilitation is going, though.”

I saw the way his shoulders stiffened, even though his face remained neutral. Something I said had irritated him and I wasn’t quite sure what. “What, love? What did I say that has sent you into a fit of pique? And don’t tell me you aren’t upset, Mycroft. I can read you as easily as you can tell where Mrs Greeves has hidden your cigarettes.”

His brow narrowed in annoyance for a split second before he schooled his features into that serene mask of indifference. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m not stupid, Mycroft. What?”

He sighed. He knew I could be as stubborn as he. “Serena, why do you insist on continuing to work? It is totally unnecessary. We hardly need the income and you could stay home to rest. It would be easier on you.”

I laughed at the near whine in his voice. “Stay home and do what? We have a housekeeper, a gardener and a chauffeur. I don’t want to stay home, nor do I need to rest. I would be bored silly before the end of the week.”

“But, you don’t feel well some days. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your feet are quite swollen after working twelve hours. It is difficult for you.”

“No, Mycroft, it is not difficult. It is normal, and I think I am doing a damn fine job of working and gestating your progeny. I am aware you have reasons, in addition to my comfort. Now, tell me why you are so insistent that I resign my position. Hmm?” 

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, “Serena, we still do not know who was masquerading as Moriarty on New Year’s Day. And, providing security coverage at a public place, such as your work environment, provides quite a logistical challenge, especially considering your employer is loath to allow my men to supplement their security force. Come to work for me. Serena, I beg of you.”

I stretched up and kissed his nose. “Nope! Not until after the baby is born. I want to keep our child safe, but, I like what I do and I won’t let them make me seclude myself from an attack that might or might not come. I will not be needlessly reckless, but neither will I imprison myself in some gilded cage. If someone wants to harm me, they will find a way, no matter how many guards you have around me. The fact that I work in a public place means there are more witnesses and that in itself is quite the deterrent. Is it not?”

He stamped his foot in annoyance, “Serena…” 

“No, Mycroft!” I cut him off. “My answer won’t change. Once Evelyn Rose is born, and not until.”

“It will be Oliver Ethan. You are going to have a boy.” Still frowning, he pulled me against him and kissed the top of my head. “It is my privilege to know two fierce, strong-willed women, but I must say, you both make my life difficult. Please, at least, let Timothy accompany you to Baker Street, so I don’t have to worry any more than necessary.” 

I wrapped my arms as far around him as my belly would allow, “I will and do give my love to the Queen.”

He released me and tugged at his waistcoat, “I will. And it’s going to be a boy.” 

“No, it’s not. If you can’t call her by her right name, we’ll just have to keep calling her ‘Little M’.”

“No, that is your pet name for her, not mine.” His tone lacked any sting as he exited the room, and I wondered if he realised he had said ‘her’. “Do be careful, Serena!”


	22. Something to alleviate boredom

Mycroft had been in Paris for three days, attending some kind of summit on counterterrorism. I had elected not to go with him this time. At the thirty-seventh week of pregnancy, I did not feel like sitting alone in a hotel suite waiting for him to return. I was much more comfortable at home, where I could put the final touches on the nursery and not change out of my jimjams all day if I didn’t want to. I had nowhere else to be at this time and I was enjoying every minute of it. I had given the hospital my letter of resignation several days before. For the next six months, my primary job was going to be mummy to a wonderful baby boy or girl (Mycroft still insisted I was carrying a boy). After that, I would be employed by the British Government full time. I hoped that didn’t just mean giving the flu jab to employees at Vauxhall Cross once a year, but Mycroft assured me that I would be utilised in the capacity that I had been previously, as well as doing employee physicals and triaging minor injuries on the many agents coming and going from the field. He had introduced me to Dr Eldridge, the director of the medical program there. He seemed to be a pleasant chap and I was looking forward to my next adventure, after parenthood of course.

By the fourth day of Mycroft’s absence, I had finished two novels and the nursery. There was nothing else to be done but wait for our precious little one to arrive. To put it another way, I was bored and after lunch, I called Tim in to suggest we take a trip to Baker Street. Maybe Sherlock and I could keep each other entertained. He was doing remarkably well in his efforts to shake the proverbial monkey off his back and I hoped it was for good this time.

Mycroft had laid down the law after Sherlock had turned up at a crime scene high at the end of March, just a day or two after Mary delivered little Elizabeth. Lestrade had grabbed him by the shirt collar, cuffed him and dragged him straight to Mycroft’s office. They had had an almighty row, ending with Mycroft punching Sherlock and threatening to let him rot in prison if he didn’t go to rehab and clean up his act, once and for all. I had never seen Mycroft so mad. He had come home and locked himself in the library. Mrs Greeves and I had heard the smashing of glass, but when he came out an hour later there was no evidence of the tantrum to be found. 

Mrs. Greeves patted me on the arm and encouraged me to go to him. I have to admit I was a little frightened and looking back it seems so silly of me. Mycroft was staring out the window when I walked into the bedroom. If he heard me, he didn’t acknowledge the fact. I called his name without response and when I lay my hand on his shoulder, he turned so violently that I stepped back with a gasp. Something must have shown on my face because he immediately hung his head and apologised. Repeatedly. I murmured my own apology for bothering him, but he would have none of it. Mycroft drew me to his side and hugged me fiercely, fisting his hands in my curls and letting out a long sigh. “I am so sorry, Love. Please, don’t be frightened of me. You must know that I would never hurt you, despite my loss of temper today. I did strike my brother,” he confessed, “and I am sick at the thought of it, but it was the only way I could get his attention. If there had been another alternative…” He paused, looking me in the eye and stroking my cheek with his long fingers. “You never have to fear me, my dear. I solemnly swear I will never raise a hand to you or our children. Please, say you believe me.” I told him I did and asked him to tell me what had happened.

Sherlock had humbly agreed to attend an outpatient program and submit to regular drug testing. John, Greg, Mrs Hudson, Molly Hooper, Anderson and I all took turns checking on Sherlock and providing him with intellectual stimulation. I suspected John felt partially responsible for Sherlock’s misadventure, what with his marriage and career taking up the time he previously would have spent with Sherlock. Mycroft reassured us all that this was entirely Sherlock’s doing, a pattern that had, unfortunately, repeated many times since he was a teen.

Mrs. Hudson had taken the brunt of the watching over Sherlock, just by her proximity. I was sure she could use a break. John had understandably been unavailable since Mary went into labour, exactly on her due date. Now, he and Mary were blissfully happy adapting to their new role as parents.

Tim drove me to Sherlock’s flat and informed me he would be either in the car or downstairs in Speedy’s if I needed him, but for me to stay as long as I desired, for he had a new novel to devour and was looking forward to the time to read. I knew he was Mycroft’s most trusted employee, as he was assigned to watch over me. That spoke volumes about the man’s integrity and his skill. The best part was that he was my friend, too. “Make Sherlock give you a stool to prop your feet upon, love. I’ve seen you wince twice already with your back. Alright?”

“Alright, I will.” I took the seventeen steps slowly, although Little M didn’t seem to be as far up under my diaphragm as he/she had been the past few weeks. Yesterday, it had been difficult to take a deep breath.

Sherlock was playing the violin when I entered the flat. He nodded his acknowledgement but continued to play. Mrs Hudson greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and a rub of my gargantuan belly, or, at least, it felt that big to me. She set me down in John’s chair, covered my lap with the tartan throw and propped my feet on a pillow covered stool. With a cup of tea in my hand and a plate of fresh blueberry scones at my side, she retreated downstairs. I enjoyed listening to Sherlock play, he was ever so good. I did find it amusing when by the third piece I realised they all had been classical lullabies.

I clapped when Sherlock finished the last note with a flourishing sweep of the bow. I was going to have to remember him on nights when the baby was fussy or unwilling to nap. “That was fabulous, Sherlock. I didn’t know you knew lullabies.”

“It seemed necessary to practise them; what with babies popping out everywhere,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Oh, admit it, Sherlock. It kept your mind busy,” I laughed. 

He settled down in his chair. Well, he sat on the back of it anyway. His feet jittered and danced on the seat as he pinned me with one of his assessing looks. “Why are you here? You should be home, getting ready to do whatever women do before they labour.”

“I have a few weeks before that happens. I was bored. Mycroft is still in Paris and I can’t stand being alone anymore. I thought I would see how your recovery was going. Any problems?”

He waved off my concern, “It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

“Sherlock!” I frowned at him.

“Alright, alright. It’s been better this week. The gastrointestinal distress has calmed somewhat, but I still feel so restless,” he sighed. He hated the demands of his ‘transport’ on a daily basis, but even more so now. I could see the fine tremor in the hand he held out for me to inspect. It spoke volumes of his talent as a violinist seeing how flawlessly he had played with his hands shaking like that. “You are having contractions. Why do you think you are not going to deliver soon?”

I shouldn’t have been surprised he knew, but I was. “Yes, they are called Braxton-Hicks contractions. They are normal in the last part of pregnancy. It is my body’s way of practising for labour.”

Sherlock and I chatted quite a bit more about pregnancy. He was curious about the mechanics of it, and it seemed that Mary hadn’t been quite as comfortable discussing it with him as I was. Maybe I was just bored. Several cups of tea later, I excused myself to use the loo. When I got back, Sherlock was standing by my chair looking at my phone. He turned toward the open doorway and shouted, “Mrs Hudson, go next door and fetch Timothy immediately, it’s an emergency!” He turned to me, holding out my phone. “Serena, I want you to stay calm,” he said softly. “Your text alert went off while you were gone and I thought it might be Mycroft. It was.” With a swipe of his thumb, he showed me the picture on the screen. It definitely was Mycroft, only he seemed to be unconscious, lying on a concrete floor. A rivulet of blood trailed down from his brow…


	23. Waiting and Watching

The second message came to Sherlock’s phone thirty minutes after the first to mine. It happened just as John Watson arrived at Baker Street. In it was a picture of an equally incapacitated Anthea. This time, it was accompanied by a text message, “Did you miss me, Sherlock? Come out and play--Jim”. There must have been something different about the background that wasn’t in the picture of Mycroft because Sherlock cried out “Textiles! They are being held somewhere where they make or store textiles.” He turned to John and asked, “Did you bring the Sig?”

At John’s nod of affirmation, Sherlock drew on his coat and motioned to Timothy. Tim followed Sherlock down the steps and out the front door. I stood at the window and watched as they climbed into the black car and sped away.

John took my arm, gently, explaining, “Come away, Moriarty liked to employ snipers."

I nodded and let him lead me away. I settled into the leather and chrome chair while John pulled the heavy curtains closed before dropping down into his own chair. Mrs Hudson flitted about, placing a tray of freshly brewed tea and chocolate biscuits on the table between us. She quietly retreated to her own flat, mumbling something about preparing a meal for when we all were reunited. 

“Why didn’t you go with Sherlock, John? I thought he would have wanted you at his side. Doesn’t he trust Tim to keep me safe?” I wondered aloud, shifting to get comfortable.

John smiled, “He trusts Tim just fine. It’s not just your safety he was concerned about. He seemed to be under the impression that you are in labour and going to deliver his niece or nephew sometime in the next twenty-four hours. He prefers that you were attended by someone that has delivered a baby before. And since I have and Tim hasn’t he chose to take Tim and leave me here.” 

John nodded to where I was unconsciously rubbing my belly, “You are having a contraction now. H long have you been in labour, hmm?” John’s jaw was set and he looked me over with a clinical eye, a man well versed in reading the subtle nuances of a patient reluctant to admit their weaknesses. Where Sherlock could read a man’s history from what he wore and the way he carried himself, John was just as intuitive in some ways, probably reading my discomfort from the way I sat, my breathing pattern and my facial expressions. 

I knew it was no use lying to him. “Since just after breakfast. They started out pretty erratic, but are regular now,” I sighed and swallowed back the panic that threatened to consume me. Mycroft was in the hands of some unknown villain, for we had all agreed that Moriarty was indeed dead, and I wondered if I would have to tell our child the day they were born was the day their father died.

“Serena?” John’s voice startled me and I realised I had disconnected for a second. “I said, ‘How often are the contractions coming?’

“About every seven or eight minutes, I guess,” I wrapped my arms around myself, willing the panic away. 

John got up and held out his hand to me, “Come on, let’s go to Sherlock’s bedroom and let me check you. We will see if you have made any cervical change. How far dilated were you at your last appointment?”

I let John pull me to my feet. “Two and 30% effaced. John, is this really necessary? I have a midwife. All I need to do is call her. She will meet me at the hospital.”

John slid his arm around my shoulders and guided me through the kitchen and down the short hall to Sherlock’s room. “Yes, but Sherlock would prefer that you don’t go to hospital. We don’t know who we can and can’t trust at this point.”

“You can’t seriously be considering delivering my baby here, can you?” I said in disbelief.

Doctor Watson, with his cuddly jumpers, disappeared and I became aware that Captain Watson was staring at me. His tone was stern, and his spine rigid, “Yes, I am most certainly considering it. Now, go in there and get ready while I go down to Mrs Hudson’s and get my bag of supplies.”

 

John pulled the sheet back over me and slid the glove off his hand. “Five centimetres and the cervix has thinned out considerably. I have to agree with Sherlock, although God only knows how he knew you were in labour. I suggest you get dressed and come to the lounge, you will progress more rapidly if you stay up and active. I’m going to give Mrs Hudson a list of items to get ready, linens, towels and such, and then call Mary. I would feel better with someone with some medical training to assist me.”

“You fear for her and Elizabeth’s safety, too.” I lay my hand over his, giving it an affectionate squeeze. 

“Yes,” he smiled, getting up from where he sat beside me, “and Mary is much better at giving breastfeeding advice than I will be. Get dressed.”

I dressed and followed John to the main room to await Mary and the baby. The passage of time was excruciatingly slow. I felt like the clock on the kitchen wall was mocking me; the hands barely creeping ‘round the face. By seven o’clock, my contractions had become quite painful to the point I had to breathe through them. Even little Elizabeth had ceased to be an adequate distraction and I had to hand her off to Mrs Hudson. The only time I could concentrate on anything else was when John had talked briefly with Sherlock. Sherlock said he knew who had abducted Mycroft and Anthea, a man called Col. Sebastian Moarann. 

“Oh,” Mary gasped, her eyes going wide upon hearing the name. “I know him… from before,” she explained, knowing that I was aware of her past. “Rumours were that he was second in command for a very powerful crime boss, Moriarty, I suppose. I worked with him once. He was a former SAS sniper and had a brother that was a Member of Parliament. He spelt his name differently to keep from a connection being made between them.”

“You mean Lord Moran? Lord Moran, that tried to blow up half of London? They’re brothers?” John groaned, remembering the tube car lined with explosives and the fear that he was going to die that night not so very long ago.

“Yes, brothers. In fact, I think I remember him saying they were twins.” 

“Oh, God. Lord Moran’s secret twin brother? You’ve got to be kidding,” John laughed humorlessly as he sent a text relaying the information back to Sherlock.

Something must have caught Mrs Hudson’s eye, because she stood and took a step towards me, still cradling little Elizabeth in her arms. “Serena, Love, what’s wrong?”

John and Mary looked up from the phone to me. “I think my water just broke,” I managed to get out, looking at the puddle at my feet.


	24. Push!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains a slightly graphic description of labor and birth. If it's not your thing, don't read and skip to the last paragraph.

With the loss of the cushioning effect now that my water had broken, the contractions that were uncomfortable before became almost unbearable. I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t sit, all I could do was close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing. I stood at the foot of the bed and held onto the rail for dear life until the contraction released me from its vice-like grasp. Mary stood at my side, her arm around my shoulders while she whispered encouragements in my ear. “Well done, love. Well done. It won’t be much longer now,” her soft voice was soothing. “Let’s get you lying down. I am afraid you have passed the point of staying upright. John, can you help me get her in the bed?” she called to him in the kitchen. 

John appeared at the door, phone pressed to his ear. “Thanks for letting me know, Greg. Just get here as quickly as you can. I’ve got to go.” He rang off and slid the phone into his pocket. “What’s going on girls?” he asked, taking my hand as I attempted to take a step. 

I stopped and wrapped an arm around my stomach, letting out a string of expletives that surprised even me, “Bloody! Buggering! Fuck! This hurts! Please, John, make them hurry up and find him.”

John snickered, then picked me up and carried me to the side of the bed, depositing me upon it. He may have lacked in height, but John more than made up for it in strength. “I know you want him here, and I have excellent news. I just spoke with Greg. He is in a warehouse just outside of London. Sherlock called him thirty minutes ago for assistance. Mycroft and Anthea have been rescued. Greg said they are a little bruised and battered but they are alright.”

“Thank God!” I sighed in relief, laying my head on the pillow behind me, riding out the last of the contraction. I wanted to stop everything and go to Mycroft. I wanted to see for myself that he was alive and tend to his wounds. But instead, I was unable to walk across the room, unable to help anyone, including myself. Tears sprang to my eyes, whether in relief or the feeling of helplessness, I did not know. I was so tired and all I could think of was curling up with Mycroft. I wanted to hear his deep, soothing tones and feel his caresses.

“Rest, Serena, rest. You need to relax and take every chance to gather your strength. Greg is going to bring Mycroft straight here once he has medical clearance. He will be here shortly,” John smiled, “and so will your baby.”

Mary sat on the other side of the bed, holding my hand and wiping the tears and sweat from my face with a wet flannel. “It’s alright to cry, sweetie. You’ve had a stressful day, but it’s almost over. Think how happy you are going to be when you and Mycroft see your sweet little one for the first time. It makes all this worth it, I promise you.”

I nodded, closing my eyes and taking the momentary lull between contractions to do as John had suggested and try to let myself drift off into sleep. It was nearly eleven o’clock and I had been at this for so many hours. Even though I knew I had been progressing fairly quickly for my first time labouring, the additional emotional stress had left me exhausted and wishing that it was done already. 

Sleep was just beginning to claim me when I was jerked back to wakefulness by the start of another pain. Something was different about this one. I groaned, bearing down against the rapidly strengthening contraction and intense pressure accompanied by the need to… push! “John!” I gasped, pushing myself to a sitting position.

“Mary, get Mrs Hudson to put the blankets and towels in the dryer to warm them. I think we may have a baby within the hour. Alright, Serena, let’s get your knickers off and see what we have going on in there.” 

John palpated my belly with one hand while he checked my cervix with the other. He leant back and pulled the glove off, dropping it in the bin Mrs Hudson had put by the bed for that purpose. “I have more good news for you. Your cervix is completely dilated and we can begin pushing,” he smiled knowingly at me. “You are already feeling the urge, aren’t you?”

I nodded, closing my eyes and biting my lip to keep the little bit of control I had left.

“Alright, let’s get you in position. That’s it,” he coached, “chin on your chest, legs pulled back and push!”

I pushed and rested, pushed and rested, a cycle that seemed to last for hours, when in fact it had only been fifteen minutes. John assured me I was making excellent progress.

“The baby’s head is half out, Serena!” Mary squealed after two more pushes. “Come look, Mrs Hudson, it’s almost here.”

Mrs. Hudson rushed into the bedroom, handing the stack of warmed towels to Mary, still cradling a sleeping Elizabeth on her shoulder. “Oh, how lovely. The hair looks ginger. Don’t you think it looks ginger?”

“It does appear so. Give me a big push, Serena, and we can have this baby. Push, Serena! Push!” John encouraged, sitting on the bed with me. Mary stood at the side, a towel folded in her hands, ready to dry and swaddle the baby.

“I am pushing!” I growled, curling my fingers around my knees and pulling them even tighter against my chest.

John snickered and glanced up at Mary, “Sounds familiar, eh?”

Mary blushed and swatted at John with the towel, “Hush, husband! Let’s see you push out a cantaloupe through your …”

John didn’t get to hear what he was pushing the melon through because I gave a great groan and the head was out. I panted with the gargantuan effort.

“Serena, stop! Don’t push! There is a cord around the neck, don’t push.” John stabilised the head with one hand and gently slipped the cord from around the neck before applying gentle traction to get the shoulders out. “A gentle push, now. That’s fantastic!" My child slipped free of me with another gush of fluid and John cleared her mouth and nose with the aspirator. He accepted the towel from Mary, drying the baby slightly before laying her on my chest. "Look, Serena, it’s a girl! Here’s your baby girl.” She was beautiful and slimy and wonderful, as only a newborn baby could be. She wailed, announcing her arrival to the world while John cut the cord. Mary finished drying her as she lay on my chest. I had a hard time seeing her as tears poured from my eyes, but as soon as Mary removed the wet towel and swaddled her with a dry one, I pulled her into my arms and began to pepper her face with kisses. "My baby. My sweet baby, you look just like your father!" I sobbed.

The quiet gasp from the doorway surprised us all and we each looked to over to find Mycroft staring in amazement at his newly born daughter. I had no idea how long they had been there. His arm was slung over Sherlock’s shoulders, in an effort to stay upright. He looked so tired. Sherlock led him to the chair that Mary pulled to the bedside and eased him down into it. Sherlock then turned and bent to place a kiss on my cheek, grinning widely. He lifted little Evelyn Rose, kissed her on the nose and handed her to Mycroft’s waiting arms. Mycroft stared at her lovingly,“Hello, my little love.”


	25. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green for Saint Patrick's Day! Green for... nevermind, you'll understand at the end. Definitely one of the longest chapters so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have finally made it to the end of the story, and I would like to thank each and every one of you that stopped by to read, kudo or comment! The support has been greatly appreciated. If not for you (yes, you reading this right now), this would have been a one-shot. I hope you have enjoyed the ride just as much as I have. Thanks also to ACD, Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC.

There was a timid knock at the bedroom door. “Come in,” Mycroft murmured, not looking up until he noted the sound of little feet padding to the side of the bed. "Daddy? Mummy said to ask you to tell me the story about the day I was born." 

Mycroft put the papers he had been reading on the bedside table. They were important, but they could wait. Evie always took precedence. She and her mother were the very reason he worked so hard to keep England safe. He placed his reading glasses on top of the stack before lifting the tiny girl onto the bed beside him. He hugged her close and stroked a hand over her tousled curls. "She did? Did she?"

"Yes, Daddy. I asked Uncle Sherwock, but he said I had to ask you or Mummy. And Mummy gets all upset when I ask her anything about that day. I don't think she likes to talk about it."

"How do you know that, Poppet?" He smiled. It was true, she did look more like him than her mother, but sometimes, just sometimes, she looked like another. Her eyes were the colour of Serena’s, but right now it was Sherlock’s curious eyes looking at him. 

She snuggled underneath the covers and laid her head against him, yawning widely. "Uncle Sherwock's been teaching me how to do re-dack... re-duck... de-duck-shuns. He says you can do them even better than him.” She brought her fingers up to cover her mouth as if to stop the words from coming out. "Oops! He made me promise not to tell you that, Daddy. Do you think he will be mad?"

Mycroft laughed, surprised at Sherlock's admission. It seemed as if Evie brought out a softer, more human side of his brother. Evie idolised her uncle and he doted on her in return. "Well, Evie, I promise I won't tell him if you won't. Alright?"

"Alright, Daddy. Will you tell me about the day I was born since it makes Mummy sad?"

"I don’t think it makes Mummy sad. She loves you very much. It is just that that day was quite difficult for her. I will tell you all about it, Love, but I can only tell you from my perspective, which is quite different from what you mother experienced."

"Why?" she said, screwing up her face in puzzlement.

"Because, I was not with your mother that day or at least, not for most of it anyway."

"Was you busy running the country, Daddy?"

"No, Poppet. A bad man kidnapped me and Anthea. Do you know what kidnapped means?"

She nodded exaggeratedly, making her dark auburn curls bounce. "Uh-huh. It means somebody stole you. Mummy says I always have to hold onto an adult's hand and stay close because somebody might try to kidnap me. Why did the bad person steal you, Daddy? Did you forget to hold somebody’s hand?"

Mycroft chuckled. He wished he could keep her this innocent forever. That was an impossible dream, though, especially in this family. She had to be made aware of the evil men could do to their fellow men, if not because of her father’s profession, then because of her uncle’s. Moriarty had been the first to show Sherlock had a heart. Moran had known. Others would see it too. "The bad man was upset with me and your Uncle Sherlock because we beat his employer at a game. He wanted to punish us for making his boss go away."

"Did Uncle Sherwock and Uncle John rescue you from the bad man, just like in one of Uncle John's stories?" She twined her fingers with his, and he wondered how this little person had taken up so much of his heart. He had always been over-protective. Sherlock had moaned about that fact on a daily basis since he had been able to talk. Now, he would stop at nothing less than selling his soul to the devil to protect this tiny child and her mother.

"Not this time, Evie. Tim accompanied Sherlock, and John stayed behind to help your Mummy have you. Tim usually guards your Mummy, but he didn't know how to deliver a baby. Sherlock deduced that your Mummy was going to have you that day, so he asked Uncle John to stay and help your mother."

"’Cause Uncle John is a soldier-doctor?"

"Yes, you were not the first baby John had delivered.”

"How did Sherwock find you, Daddy? How did he know where the bad man had taken you and Anthea?"

"He deduced that we were being held in an old textile mill by the lint and dust he could see in the picture the bad men sent to your mother's phone. Sherlock, Tim, and Detective Inspector Lestrade snuck into the building and overpowered our captors. Lestrade took the men into custody and released us." He did not inform her of the fight that ensued or of the gunfire that was exchanged, resulting in Tim killing Colonel Moarann. It was not the stuff of bedtime stories for a three-year-old child, no matter how intelligent. "I arrived at Baker Street just as you were being born."

Sherlock reached out to steady Mycroft as he stumbled trying to get out of the car. His brother looked exhausted and his usual immaculate garments were rumpled and dirt-stained. But, for a man who claimed that working in the field was not his 'natural milieu', Mycroft had proven himself to be quite an adept fighter. The split knuckles of his right hand were a testament to that truth. Sherlock did not sneer or make crass remarks concerning the faltering of Mycroft’s gait, instead, he said, “Lean on me.” The brothers made their way up the seventeen stairs slowly, arm in arm. Sherlock supported Mycroft’s slightly taller frame. Tim followed behind, holding onto an equally unsteady Anthea. 

“She is safe?” Mycroft glanced over at Sherlock as they rounded the first landing.

“Yes, they are safe.”

Sherlock suspected his change of pronoun had passed Mycroft’s notice. He was unsurprised, though. Mycroft and Anthea had been taken the evening before and had been given neither food nor water until they were rescued, and then it had only been a bottle of water each. Mycroft was tired, worried, been concussed and probably had a low blood sugar, that did tend to dull the senses. 

Mycroft heaved a sigh as they passed through the door into the flat. He was running on adrenaline and little else, he longed to sink into a chair and rest his weary body. Instead of making their way to the sofa, Sherlock turned and lead him to the bedroom. Mycroft wondered if he really looked so bad that Sherlock thought he needed to put him to bed. Or was Serena so upset she had to be sedated and was now resting in Sherlock’s bed. That would be contrary to the strength she exhibited on a daily basis but seemed probable only when considering the flat appeared empty of all the occupants he had expected to find awaiting his arrival.

“Serena, stop! Don’t push! There is a cord around the neck, don’t push.” John’s command broke through the thick haze in his mind and Mycroft realised it was not emotional distress that had sent her to bed but childbirth. 

Sherlock kept up with him as Mycroft’s legs propelled him down the hall and into the room. Serena lay in the middle of the bed, head thrown back and gasping for air as John stabilized the head with one hand and gently slipped the cord from around the neck before applying gentle traction to get the shoulders out. John looked up briefly, winking at Mycroft. “A gentle push, now. That’s fantastic!" Mycroft’s child slipped free of its mother with a gush of fluid and John cleared her mouth and nose with the aspirator. "Look, Serena, it’s a girl! Here’s your baby girl.”

Mycroft figured he must have made some kind of sound because suddenly all eyes were on him. Sherlock led him to the chair that Mary pulled aside the bed and then his daughter was in his arms. She was so tiny and perfect. She had his nose and her mother’s eyes. His eyes met Serena’s. Oh, God, how beautiful she looked. Tears slid down her cheeks and she looked absolutely exhausted, but she was so beautiful. He felt tears sting the corners of his eyes and he blinked to clear his vision. He could not decide who was more beautiful, as he looked between the two women he loved. 

A hand gripped his shoulder and gave a squeeze. Sherlock stood beside him, grinning one of those rare, genuine smiles that reminded him of childhood and the days when they were the best of friends. Sherlock’s voice rumbled quietly, “Well done, Mycroft. Well done!” It was only later when he was alone with his wife and daughter that Mycroft realized Sherlock had been crying, too. 

Mycroft watched quietly as Serena brushed the tiny mouth with her nipple. Evie rooted eagerly before grasping it and began to suck greedily. Serena looked into Mycroft’s eyes and with an impish grin said, “She’s like her father. She knows what to do with that.”

Mycroft’s cheeks flushed and he tugged at his waistcoat nervously, eying Mary as she hovered at Serena’s other side where she had been helping the new mother attempt the first latch and feeding.

Mary grinned at his discomfort, “It’s perfectly natural, Mycroft. We all are adults here and know women’s breasts serve dual purposes, nourishing infants and providing sexual stimulation.”

Mycroft glared at Mary. “Yes, but do we need to discuss the matter? I believe you have your own child to nourish.”

Mary smiled and cupped her own breasts gently, “Yes, I believe you are right. I am feeling a little engorged. In all the excitement, I think I let Elizabeth skip a feeding. If you need me, I’ll be upstairs in John’s old room.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Serena smiled. 

Mary rounded the bed, stopping at Mycroft’s side long enough to place a kiss on his cheek. “Congratulations, Mycroft.”

Mycroft took her hand into his before she moved away. “Thank you, Mary. I owe you more that I can say. Knowing that she had a skilled nurse and a friend to support her while I could not be here means…” At a loss for words, Mycroft squeezed her hand affectionately. “Thank you.” 

Mary nodded, “Your welcome, Mycroft. It was my pleasure.” She shut the door quietly behind her as she left.

“Did you ever dream that you would have a daughter that looked just like you, Mycroft?” Serena smiled up at him as he watched Evie’s eyes close lazily despite still tugging at the nipple.

“No, I never imagined I would want a child. Not until your file crossed my desk, anyway. Does it hurt?”

“Not right now. Ask me tomorrow. Mary says if it’s going to happen, sore nipples will happen on the second day.”

He winced at the ache in his head and ribs as he moved out of the chair and joined his family on the bed. He slipped his arm around Serena’s shoulders and settled back into the pillows. It was so peaceful. The excitement of the past twenty –four hours was catching up to him and he felt himself skirting the edge of sleep. Sherlock’s bed was comfortable, and he must offer to replace the surely ruined sheets and mattress. Oh, Sherlock... Mycroft sat forward and frowned at Serena. “Did you really have to tell John to give the placenta to Sherlock? God knows what kind of experiment he plans on using it for,” he huffed in disgust.

Serena laughed, “He brought you back to me, Mycroft. I would give him the world if I could.”

Three years later, Mycroft still felt that same gratitude to Sherlock for taking command that day and ensuring everyone’s health and safety. Additionally, Sherlock was a great uncle. He loved Evie just as much as her parents and grandparents. That he took the time to teach her to deduce, said it all. So much for the self-proclaimed Sociopath.

Evie yawned, “Daddy, can I be there next time?”

“Be where next time, Poppet?” Mycroft rocked her gently.

She yawned and wiggled until she was fully in his lap. “There when the baby is born.”

“Baby?” His eyebrows shot up.

“Yes. Sherwock says Mummy is going to have another baby. He said she turned green at the smell of one of his experiments and when you turn green from a smell it means you are pwegnant. Pwegnant means you have a baby in your tummy.”

Mycroft swallowed. Damn. He had missed the signs. He shifted Evie as she slipped into slumber, and reached for his phone. He sent a text to Anthea: 

Need to upgrade surveillance on my family to Level Four. -MH

Done. Congratulations, Sir. -A


	26. Attack of the Clones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's umbrella finally gets its own chapter....sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, it has been almost a year since I finished this fic. I didn't plan on adding any more chapters but, I could not let this opportunity pass. In TFP my headcanon became canon. This one is short and sweet.

Serena peaked her head around the library door. "Evie love, have you seen your brothers?" She hated to disturb piano practice but the twins had evaded their nanny's watch while Serena had been in the nursery feeding Grace. They tended to get into mischief when left unattended for very long.

Evie looked up from the piano and pointed out the window. "Yes, Mummy. They are in the garden having a lightsaber battle."

"Oh," Serena frowned. "I thought they broke one of the lightsabers last night."

Evie nodded, "The red one. Ian said he was going to use Daddy's brolly instead, 'cause it's better than a toy anyday."

"Your Daddy's brolly?" Serena's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, shit!"

Mrs Greives stared in shock as Serena bolted out the kitchen door and into the garden, shouting,"Ian! Nicholas! Boys, put down Daddy's brolly before someone gets hurt!"


End file.
